


Investiture

by BellaBlair



Category: Inspector Lynley - All Media Types, Inspector Lynley Mysteries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Inspector Lynley, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Romantic Friendship, Stand Alone, You don't need to know the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaBlair/pseuds/BellaBlair
Summary: Lynley and Havers romance, set after "Know Thine Enemy" - A kiss should change everything, but Tommy and Barbara will have to make their love work through cases, rivals, family, and the politics of CID and Barbara's own terror of relationships. The last chapter is fluff.
Relationships: Barbara Havers & Thomas Lynley, Barbara Havers/Thomas Lynley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. Mind the Gap

Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Lynley, 8th Earl of Asherton, stepped through the cordon and into a blaze of work lights. A marquee had been set up over the front steps to protect the crime scene from the snow - and the paparazzi. 

"Sir! Over here!" Detective Sargeant Barbara Havers waved her arm. 

"Have they confirmed it's Stephen Lawton?" He pulled on blue shoe covers and gloves. 

"Yes," Havers led the way into the stately home to the parlor. A body was on the floor with a shotgun nearby on the carpet. A pair of Scenes of Crime Officers in coveralls were collecting samples and taking photographs. 

The senior SOCO, Simmens, nodded at Lynley and stepped over. "Of course we'll need the PM to be sure, but so far nothing counter-indicates suicide. And before you ask, I'd say he died just about two hours before we arrived so... 8-ish?"

"Was there a note?" 

"Not here, unfortunately. It'll take days to sort if there's one in the library." 

Lynley raised an eyebrow at Havers. She indicated a room across the wide hall. "Holy...." Lynley breathed as he leaned in the doorway. "What happened here?" 

It looked like a letter bomb had been exploded. The color of the carpet couldn't have been identified for the layers of paper on the ground. 

"Dunno," Havers shook her head. "The housekeeper, Mrs. Griffiths, swears that when she left last night it was 'neat as a new pin'." 

"When did she arrive today?" He glanced around.

"Half eight," Havers glanced down at her notes on her mobile. "She's been taken to hospital with...angina. Possible heart attack."

"So she heard the shot?"

"Oh, no. Half eight this _evening_. She found him and called immediately."

Lynley's brow furrowed. "Was that usual? For the housekeeper to work at night?"

"Unusual, actually. A service usually did light cleaning if Lawton requested, otherwise he liked his privacy on weekends." 

"I'll bet," Lynley growled. Lawton had been forced from his position after a pap photographed him kissing a sixth-former in his own back garden. Though the girl was legal at 16, the social outcry had been deadly. As more girls had come forward, Lawton had been forced to resign his seat in Parliament and his wife had decamped to a country home without comment. For months, he'd been a social pariah.

Barbara skimmed her eyes over the library's chaos. "What was he looking for?"

"Maybe it was just a tantrum. He was somewhat famous for them."

"So you knew him?" she shouldn't have been surprised.

"I did, yes."

Barbara squatted down and indicated a piece of embossed Howenstow stationery amongst the sea of paper. Lynley squinted at it and sighed, feeling the whole day go sideways.

"Hey, this is from..." Havers twisted to see the signature.

"I know the handwriting, thank you," he cut her off sharply, glancing down at his mobile and shaking his head. "Look, I've got to go. Ring Nkata and tell him to get over here and assist. Take the lead, I'll expect an update this morning. A speedy result, Havers."

"But, sir..." _Nkata was on with his girlfriend on a mini-break in Ibiza_. Havers chased behind her boss to the door but he'd already divested himself of the booties and gloves and was marching down the steps.

"Sir!" She called again.

"Just, do what you can," Lynley gave her a quick look, his eyes emotionless. A moment later, a taxi stopped for his lifted hand and he was gone.

"Was that the guv?" A young detective constable jogged up. "I was told to report..."

"What's your name?"

"Uh..." she dug in her pocket and held up her warrant card. It was brand new.

"DC Scarlett Thomas," Barbara read. "Do you need that to remember your name?"

"No...uh...ma'am," the tiny DC was obviously from Essex. "You're Havers, right ma'am? I mean, Detective Inspector..."

"Detective _Sergeant_ Barbara Havers. Don't call me ma'am."

"Yes, Sarge," she bobbed her head eagerly.

"You were supposed to report on Monday."

"I like to be early."

Havers almost had to smile. She'd been exactly the same down to the bad haircut and oversized jacket. "All right, Thomas. Suit up," she pointed to the boxes of booties and gloves. "And welcome to the team."

The new detective chattered for the next hour as she shadowed Barbara closely but her questions were sharp and she took careful notes. The sun was just turning orange over the Thames as they walked the few blocks to headquarters from the Lawton home. Barbara left Scarlett to find her way as she checked Lynley's office.

It was empty.

She texted him again and made herself a cup of tea and cadged some stale biscuits. 

Barabar gave it a few extra minutes and Scarlett appeared but Lynley didn't. A skeleton crew had slowly gathered in the conference room. With budget and personnel cuts, every team was juggling. With a sigh, she launched into a summary of the Lawton case as well as two others that were under Lynley's purvue. 

"A twenty says Lawton did himself in."

"Sucker's bet! After that last one..."

"Pfft, you should talk. How old's that..."

"Enough!" Havers held her free hand up to stop the crosstalk. She turned and indicated the Detective Inspector that was leading the rest of the open cases. "David will take it from here."

"Where's the boss, then?" Everyone seemed to simultaneously realize that Tommy Lynley was not in his usual spot leaning against the wall. 

Barbara shrugged.

"He's slipped the leash?" David joked, stepping up with his notes in hand. 

She rolled her eyes as a division secretary called to her from the hallway. "Detective Sergeant?"

"Yes?"

"You're wanted in AC Evans's office."

"What, now?"

The other woman gave her a quick nod. Barbara gave the team a quick wave and followed.

Evans motioned for her the moment she turned the corner. As she Havers stepped through the door, she spotted Fiona Knight in one of the chairs.

"Ma'am?"

"I'll get straight to the point," Evans pinned her with a severe expression and Barbara wondered if she were in some new kind of trouble. "Detective Chief Inspector Knight has requested you for the Kent task force."

"What, those assaults?"

"And now murders," Fiona looked grim. "The latest victim was found this morning – dead. We've got nothing by way of forensics so far, just like the others. And the girl we found Thursday is not expected to last the night. The head trauma is terminal."

"Oh."

"We need to get this sorted - and quickly."

"I'd have to…"

"He's already signed off."

"He has?" Barbara breathed in with surprise. "Right. Uh…OK, then. When do we get started?"

"How does _now_ sound?"

* * *

Fiona offered Barbara a lift but she decided to take her own car. The drive to Canterbury took almost three hours because of some ridiculous accident on the M2. And through it all, there'd been no answer on Lynley's mobile.

Refusing to be distracted, she found Fiona in a conference room serving as the taskforce HQ. The Kent Police Station in Canterbury was a squat brick and glass box with a pronounced 80's vibe, but at least the offices the team had been given were recently painted and carpeted.

Styrofoam boxes full of curry and rice were open on the table. The team accepted her appearance comfortably, sliding her a plate. Together, they picked apart the details with new insights and ideas floated by individuals.

"If he keeps to the schedule, we can expect the next attack to occur between 4:30 and 5:30 Friday morning," Fiona tapped a long finger against her tablet screen. The image was broadcast on the screen - a calendar of all the previous assaults. The pattern was obvious to everyone. "That's barely five days."

"Every available copper will be out, keeping watch," a gruff, older detective growled. "We'll get him."

"Let's try and catch him _before_ then, eh?" Fiona urged as she gave out assignments.

Barbara was satisfied with being tasked to re-interview possible witnesses as a fresh pair of eyes. 

"Thanks for coming," Fiona gave her a grateful smile. "Everyone's lodged at the Falstaff, by the way."

"Cheers. So who was your second choice?" She looked around, half expecting Lynley to walk through the door. 

"I didn't have one," the DI winked. "It was just you though I never expected to get you without a fight. You have an eye for things, Barbara." 

"Thanks," she bit her lip, feeling the warmth of the compliment. 

"Don't let it go to your head. That list is over a hundred strong and the clock's ticking."

Barbara swiped her eyes and found a bit of desk to start work. 

By Wednesday night, Fiona sent Barbara back to the hotel early with strict orders to rest. Havers dragged herself back to the inn in a stupor.

And there he was - sitting alone by the old brick fireplace, nursing a pint.

Lynley turned and locked eyes with Barbara.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" she demanded, her heart beating erratically.

"Hello to you, too." Lynley stood and indicated the table. "Join me?"

"I called," she responded stubbornly.

"I know. I'm sorry," he stepped towards her.

"If you want on the case…"

"That's not why I'm here."

"You just disappeared."

"I know," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

With a huff, Barbara sat down and dropped her purse on the table. "It's been 3 days."

"I left you a message."

"Last night. While I was in the midst of this."

"As I said."

"You can't…" she sputtered.

"What?"

"Keep disappearing, sir."

"I was on leave, then," he reminded her brusquely. 

"Right." With a deep breath, she stood. "I've got to kip or I'll fall over. Do as you please."

"Before you stomp off, tell me…it's a good team, here? You're all right, I mean? Making some progress?"

"Oh, God…"

"What?"

"Don't fish," she warned.

"I'm not."

"You are. This has to stop, sir. You can't push me away and then come 'round 'cuz I've got a new guv."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"It's not? Because last time…"

"This isn't last time!" 

"Fine," she didn't argue. He wanted absolution, and she was tired of fighting. _Tired, full stop._

"Sit back down for Christ's sake."

She perched on the edge of the seat, ready to bolt.

"Lawton has been designated a suicide."

"As expected. What about that card from Howenstow that we found at the scene? Did it mean anything?"

"It appears that Helen wrote him a thank you note for a gift he made."

"A gift?"

"A substantial donation to The Good Grief Trust in our name. After we lost the baby. Helen never told me."

Barbara noticed his voice didn't hitch, talking about them. _Progress, then._ "What's next? This?"

"I was on my way to Howenstow."

"It's the opposite direction. You're taking leave?"

"Not entirely the opposite. And yes, a few days. My mother has had some trouble with the new manager; nothing major but warrants a visit."

"All right," she drew out the last word.

"Barbara?"

"Yeah, OK. Consider us patched." She stood up again and gathered up her coat.

He got to his feet as well. "I'd had a crazy thought that you'd come with me."

"To Cornwall?" Barbara didn't cover her surprise. "I have to be up again in less than 6 hours to try and catch a serial killer."

"I meant…when this is over."

"Who knows when that will be. But I'll see you when I get back, yeah?"

"Right. Sleep well," he offered, watching as she headed to the stairs.

* * *

It was still dark when her alarm went off the next morning. Barbara turned on the light by the bed and checked for messages before pulling herself over to the bathroom. It took several gallons of hot water before she felt clean but by the time she'd dried, she was feeling almost human again.

The trouser press revived her pantsuit and she pulled on a fresh blouse. _Hadi would be proud_, she thought as she draped her coat over her arm and let herself out of the room.

"Hello." He was leaning against the wall outside her room.

"God!" Barbara slapped her chest in surprise. "I thought you were heading to Cornwall?"

"Not right away. As you said, it's a serial killer. All hands on deck."

"I knew it," she muttered.

Outside, Tommy touched her on the shoulder to point out his car. Barbara paused a moment before capitulating and following. He could face the music with the SIO on his own. And the leather seats of his Bristol were comfortable to her in a way she couldn't explain.

"Seat belt," he reminded her.

"York Street in Ramsgate," she rolled her eyes, ignoring the overly paternal tone he put on too often. "I'm interviewing witnesses with morning patrol."

"Right," he said, releasing the break and heading into the dark.

"You slept?"

"Yes, thank you. The room was surprisingly comfortable. You?"

"Yeah," she said, covering a yawn.

It was a 30-minute ride to Ramsgate. Lynley showed that he'd done his homework and asked pertinent questions. By the time they found parking and pushed into the old glass doors into the station, he was almost as prepared as she was.

"Ma'am? Fiona?" Barbara approached with a tickle of anxiety. There was no hiding who was following her into the room.

"Tommy," Fiona stood and shook his hand. "Good to see you again." She meant it. _Considering the mounting pressure and less than 48 hours before the next attack was expected..._

"Detective Chief Inspector Knight," he responded with a tight smile.

He looked around and realized that the cops around them were bundling up and moving out with speed. "Report of a car just parked over on the esplanade," she explained. "It would be ahead of his established schedule, but still…"

"Not exactly nice weather for a stroll," he agreed, pulling his driving gloves back on. One of the PC's gave Barbara a radio and Tommy a star-struck stare. Fiona led the team quickly out into the cold. Sirens and lights kept off not to spook the killer if he was still out there.

Barbara gave him a pointed look as he drove. "You called ahead," she accused.

"Texted. Look," he pointed out the windscreen. The cop cars had flashed on their lights and sirens. "They've found something."

It was a quick run through the scrub to the tiny copse of trees. A seventh victim was barely recognizable as a woman underneath all her injuries. She was transported swiftly to local hospital as the rest began hunting for evidence.

"He advanced the schedule," Fiona scrubbed her face with her hands, obviously stricken.

"Boss!" a local constable ran over. "Paramedics report there's blood under her nails!"

Barbara nearly clapped with joy. While the victim underwent life-saving surgery, the team got down to details. They identified the woman and had her parents contacted in Gillingham. The car was discovered to have been stolen. Fingertip search again yielded no additional useful forensics.

It was gone lunch before anyone thought to take a break. Fiona slipped out to the nearby Starbucks for a cup of awful American coffee. She knew before sitting down that DCI Thomas Lynley, Earl of Asherton, was right behind her. The admiring glances of the women in the shop – or for that matter, many of the men – gave it away.

"Sit," she invited, taking a sip and savoring the froth.

"You look well."

"I'm a good stone lighter than last time," she pointed out.

"Yes, of course. My belated congratulations. And on the promotion."

"Thank you. And my belated condolences to you."

He inclined his head a moment and then looked back up. "You have a good team."

"I have a _great_ team," she corrected. "And a great skipper. But you knew that all along, didn't you?"

"There were some impediments."

"Like the fact that the chip on her shoulder would eclipse most of Southeast England? Or that she considers most authority and anything remotely upper echelon to be a malignancy?"

"That, too."

"Underneath it, though, she's as fine as they come. And she's come a long way since we worked together last. Barbara could go far if she keeps on like this."

"I know," he smiled softly.

"I know you know," she quipped. "The question is, what now?"

"She won't stay in Kent."

"Not even to make DI?"

"Oh," Tommy sat back, surprised. "You're serious?"

"I need a strong DS, and yes – it would be promotion tracked. Not like the Met, of course, but…"

"Oh," he repeated. Needing a moment, he got up and ordered a cup of tea for himself.

"Can you let her go?" Fiona asked when he returned.

"It's her choice," he responded.

"Oh, don't," she chided. "You forget I know this Punch and Judy show. The question was to _you_."

"But it's not _you_ I owe the answer to," His tone brooked no argument.

"Fair enough. Though, Tommy… a word of advice?" Fiona's eyes were compassionate. "Barbara's lovely, but…"

"Don't be ridiculous," he interrupted. Then he stood and left the café without looking back.

* * *

Barbara worked with one of the local DC's driving as they revisited the last-seen locations for each victim. She knew there was something more she wasn't seeing. By the time they returned for the afternoon, her frustration level was off the charts. She wasn't alone. Even though the victim was stabilized, everyone was watching the clock and feeling the pressure. The urgency to find the killer was now under growing national attention and with the change in pattern - no one knew when the next strike would come.

Barbara staggered back into the Falstaff after an almost 18-hour day. She was practically to the stairs when she heard Lynley call her name. Rubbing her eyes, she turned and headed over to the small bar.

"Have you eaten?"

"Where have you been?" she sat down in the chair he pulled out.

"I've got Chinese. Still warm, I think."

"I think I'm past food."

"Try," he urged, pushing the container across the table.

She inhaled, savoring the steam that came up off the rice. "I didn't see you at the last all-hands."

"If I wanted meetings, I'd have stayed in London. I went back to the drop sites."

"Typical. I just finished visiting the grab sites with DC uhhhh Lewis. Local, drove like a granny. We found some a cashpoint that has a possible view. They're processing the video request," Gving in, she used the plastic spoon to scoop a bite.

"Barbara…"

"Havers," she responded, swallowing quickly.

"Pardon?"

"I'm Detective Sargeant Barbara _Havers._"

He sat back, considering.

"I noticed it during the Thompson case, actually. I mean, it had been coming. First, you dropped the suits, then you dropped my rank, then you started wearing bluejeans to the office and I thought Nkata was going to go mental. After you returned, you started calling me Barbara on the job."

"We're not on the job," Tommy indicated their surroundings. "When we're on the job, I'll remember."

"Bollocks."

"You're overthinking."

"That's your specialty. I state the obvious."

"Enlighten me."

Barbara finished the last of the rice and wiped her mouth with the paper serviette before balling it and tossing it into the empty container. "I would rather attend one of her majesty's garden parties than have this conversation."

"With or without a massive hat?"

"With."

"I wish I knew what you were getting at."

"You do know, sir." Barbara pushed away from the table and stood. "See ya."

"See ya," Tommy nursed one more drink before heading up to bed himself. Careful not to get drunk – not after what happened with Julia. But enough that he sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she opened her door at 5AM, she wasn't surprised he was there.

"Good morning," his voice was rough – almost a whisper. "You look nice."

"Morning," she answered, wary of the compliment.

"So, _Havers_, are we heading to Ramsgate, again?"

"No, _sir_," her voice was laced with relief. "Kent Station in Maidstone. We're briefing the Chief before he gives his media appeal. "

"So. Tell me again about the previous grab sites," he urged as he navigated the darkened streets.

"Uh, public places. Mostly Canterbury proper. 4 pubs, one more a bistro, a car park, and one sidewalk between a cashpoint and a shop."

"Pattern?"

"Nothing physically similar. They all had ineffectual security. Pubs all within walking distance of churches. But, I mean, it's _Canterbury_. Tell me about the drop sites."

"All bits of woods. Four within walking distance of car parks. All at least 30 minutes from Canterbury along and near the seashore."

"From pub to seashore with a stop along the way to commit rape, torture, and battery..." Barbara thought a moment. "None of the victims remember anything specific –between the darkness and the drugs, right? But the ones who've we been able to interview said things like they had this sense of when they were little and would hide under the bed or something like being 'boxed up'. The girls are a type, but otherwise random. So I keep thinking that our link must be the special place he takes them to. Isolated, strong enough that there's not a lot of outside noise, dark even in daylight."

"A place where he controls the environment. Especially the forensics."

"Yeah," Barbara agreed, the wheels turning in her mind. "This is local. The girls. The sites. So the place is local, too. A private bolt hole. A place he's had –known about, or even used before– for a long time. That's key."

"So we re-do the overlays," Lynley agreed. "And we find it."

At that hour of the morning, the 30 miles had taken less than 30 minutes. Tommy dropped Barbara off and then entered separately some minutes later.

Tommy had to keep himself from marching to the front of the room. But after a while, he realized that it was interesting to see Barbara operating separately from himself. Crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, he watched as she was brash about her opinions – of course – but stayed on point. She conveyed more of a big picture than he'd expected her to.

After an hour, they relocated back to Canterbury and watched the appeal on the monitor there. "He did all right," Barbara approved.

"So did you," Tommy said, for her ears alone.

"Oh," she responded, a little bemused as she began marking freshly printed maps on the board.

Fiona gestured; "Another mapping exercise?" 

"Waste of time," one of the DC's groaned.

"Yeah?" Havers challenged. "You got a better idea?"

Lynley opened his mouth to agree when Fiona shot him a quelling look. "What's your thinking, Barbara?"

"I want to try this a different way – more like an exclusion than an intersection diagram," Barbara explained. "I think our killer would go to great lengths to protect his… lair, for lack of a better word."

"You think we need to look at where he _hasn't_ been?"

"Exactly."

"On with it, then" Fiona approved.

Nodding, Barbara began to draw the connections between each grab and each drop site. Then she began highlighting circles that were not touched by either. The result was a kind of Picasso-ish polygon that stretched in ribbons through Kent.

"OK, do you see anything in all this?" she backed up to where Lynley was leaning his hip against one of the desks.

"Maybe I can help narrow it down," Lafferty announced. He breezed in with a packet of papers and handed them over to Fiona. "We found maize."

"Like, corn, you mean? That isn't exactly breaking news in Kent," Fiona responded, skimming through the report.

"Aye, but this stuff was dirty and had fibers from maybe two or three different dyed pieces of cotton, like from clothing."

"Dirty?" Tommy thought for a moment.

"Look, we've known all along that he washes the victims very thoroughly before wrapping them in bin bags prior to dumping. Now we think that he's specifically been using a power washer."

"Power washer?" 

"Yeah, there's minute traces of a particular kind of cleanser. But even more revealing is the bruising; consistent on top of the other injuries," Lafferty demonstrated, using one hand over the other in a criss-cross pattern. "It takes some hours to appear on the survivors because it's done last before he gets rid of them. But this time it might have done more to reveal our guy than hide him; the power washing seems to have pressed a maize stem deep into her ear canal. The bits of it that escaped the wash are covered in trace material."

"Dirty corn…" Barbara said softly. She looked over to Fiona, and shook her head. "Like…lots of people cutting through a farm?"

"Or…" Fiona pointed at her. "Like a Maize Maze."

"That would fit," Lafferty nodded.

"How many of those in the area?" Tommy jumped up and looked closely at the map.

"Two I can think of that match this - Haguelands Village and Quex Park." Fiona took a red pen and circled the two locations – each was in the highlighted areas. "All right, let's split up – you lot, with me to Haguelands. The rest with DS Havers to Quex," Fiona instructed, grabbing her coat and purse.

"Barbara!" Tommy called, pushing through the doors in a hurry. He paused when he realized she wasn't following right behind. 

She met his gaze. "I'll ride with Detective Chief Inspector Lynley," she told the rest of the guys.

"We'll meet you there, then."

It was about 10 miles, but Tommy practically flew the Bristol over the road. They pulled up at Quex House and began looking around. An elderly caretaker came down the stairs to meet them, complaining that the grounds were only open on Sundays.

Lynley and Havers flashed their warrant cards and gave the senior a close look. He was leaning on a cane, and tiny. Possibly an accomplice, but not the killer they were looking for.

The rest of the officers came streaming in and gathered around. "Not that we need reminding – but if he's followed pattern, he's already taken his next victim, yeah? And she could be somewhere, right here and now, needing us to find her."

"Where's the maze?" Tommy demanded from the caretaker.

"It's been taken down," he growled, still a little outraged by the intrusion.

"Taken down _where_?" Tommy pushed.

With a shaking hand, the caretaker pointed to a group of outbuildings. The team moved at a run. As they approached a greenhouse, a young man came racing out of it. Tommy and 3 cops took chase while Barbara rushed in the door and began searching around. Some loose corn was on the concrete floor. A power washer was coiled up by a drain. There were what looked like to her a few marijuana plants growing in a corner. But everything seemed quiet, otherwise.

"Detective Sergeant? Here! We have something!"

She jogged over to an adjacent tool shed. It was probably original to the place – walls made of old stone with a rustic double door. One of the DC's was pulling up a wooden slat from the floor. Beneath it was a narrow, dark hole and Barbara pulled her torch from her pocket as she approached.

A tiny whimpering sound sent the team into a frenzy. Within moments, they had ripped up several more slats until the opening was wide enough to reach in. The young woman at the bottom of it was crying and blinking against the light. Barbara jumped in, ripping off her coat and covering the girl. "You're safe now," she soothed. "It's over. We're the police."

"Barbara!" Lynley shouted, jogging to a stop at the edge of the hole. "All right?"

"Get the paramedics," she called back. 

"Already phoned," a constable waved. "We're looking for a ladder."

"Hurry. It's freezing down here." Barbara felt the cold mud seeping into her clothes.

It felt like hours but eventually, the team got both of them up and covered. The bubble lights of the ambulance lit up the fields as they loaded both Barbara and the young victim in the back. 

Lynley met her eyes as they were closing the doors. "I'll follow."

"Did you get him?" 

He didn't have time to answer before the ambulance spun away.

* * *

Lynley was held up for the better part of an hour to secure the killer, arrange his transport, and brief DCI Knight. A wave of nausea hit as he stepped through the sliding doors of the hospital. He told himself that of course Barbara was fine but he didn't really breathe until he found her sitting in one of the chairs outside A&E with a blanket over her shoulders.

"Heya. You all right?" 

"Fine, just got wet in the damn hole. A couple of scrapes."

"And the..."

Barbara bit her lip. "Louisa. Barely 18 years old, first year at university. Her family is on the way from Whitstable; a couple of constables are in there with her but I doubt they'll get a statement - she's in shock."

"Understandable," he dropped into the chair next to her. "But she'll live. That's the important bit."

"She'll live," she agreed, softly. 

Lynley rubbed his face with his hands, tiredly. He didn't want to think about young Louisa. He wanted to get out of there, with Barbara.

She could read his mind easily. "Be just a tic. I'm just waiting on the paperwork for this," she pointed to a plaster on her neck where the victim had scratched in desperation. "You _did_ get him, right?"

"Richard Nifflin. 24 years old, grew up in care. Not so much as a caution for loitering. He was looking the worse for wear after the takedown."

Barbara looked around, alarmed. "Are they..."

"No. He's been taken to a different hospital near the station."

"Good," she nodded. A nurse approached with Barbara's forms. and Lynley helped her stand and led her out to the Bentley.

"Let's get you to bed," Tommy urged, pulling her up.

She agreed with a nod, adrenaline and exhaustion making her dizzy. Wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders, Tommy led her out to the car park and drove her back in silence. 

* * *

It was nearly ten hours of dreamless rest that wasn't enough but enough. Barbara woke the next morning sore and feeling every bruise. She took a hot shower and dapped dry carefully before dressing and packing. 

Lynley was waiting at one of the tables with a carafe of tea. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I want to skip the paperwork and goodbyes and get out of Canterbury."

"That's my plan," he grinned. "Have you given it any thought?"

"What, precisely?"

"Coming with me. You're due a few days, at least." Tommy swallowed a flare of impatience. Then he looked at her pinched expression, the way she'd pulled her fine hair into a messy ponytail and her eyes matched the soft blue jumper she was wearing with faded jeans. All at once, she was both familiar and new to him.

"Is this because of the job offer?" Barbara quizzed his expression. "Fiona told me last night that you knew."

"Have you decided?"

"No," she shook her head in a tiny motion, never losing eye contact. "But it's tempting."

"I never would have imagined it - the constabulary, I mean."

She fidgeted with her cup. Two men from the team entered the dining room with a boisterous greeting and Barbara and Tommy made room at their table. They re-hashed the gruesome details of the case while eating breakfast, as only seasoned coppers can do.

Finally, Tommy stood and said his goodbyes. With a long look at Barbara, he gathered up his duffel and headed for the door.

A few moments later, she stepped out onto the sidewalk. The Bentley was waiting. She slipped into the passenger seat, tossing her rucksack in the back. "The DC's are going to bring my car back to London," she said softly. "They seemed a little too eager, actually."

Lynley chuckled softly and then tapped his seat belt to remind her to fasten hers.

Neither said anything more until after they'd merged onto the M25.

* * *

Barbara watched out the window and idly wondered why he hadn't just taken a direct flight. Sure, Lynley loved to drive - but it was a five-hour trip at best and who had the time anymore?

Yet for all the world, Tommy looked satisfied with the endless road.

"Hungry?" he broke the silence as they approached Basingstoke. 

Barbara squinted at the sky and thought about it. "I could, yeah."

"There's a chippie by the petrol station that does a decent hamburger, unless you prefer something else?"

She didn't. 

The quiet remained between them as they ate. The scarred wooden chairs wobbled a bit but the food was exactly right. They were back on the road quickly.

"This feels like the long way round," Barbara squinted at a sign - the sun was low in the sky and direct in their eyes. Lynley had pulled his sunglasses on after lunch. For the millionth time, she reminded herself to buy a pair. 

"Construction. This is longer but faster."

"Ah."

"Can I..."

"Can you?"

"It's a sore topic but, I have to point it out," Tommy's voice was soft. "You call her Fiona."

"What?"

"You call DCI Knight by her first name."

"No, I..."

"You did, before we left."

"Not to her face."

"You have, though."

"You're not her."

"Exactly my point."

"Stop it."

"What?"

"Stop."

"As you wish," Tommy skillfully pulled off at the next services. Once they were parked, he turned in his seat to face her. 

Barbara took a long moment to control her thoughts. "Can we...not?"

"Oh, for..."

"Asked and answered. More than ten years ago."

"You're not bringing that up! How many times do I have to apologize for that stupid moment?"

"You meant it! You even said if I didn't want to call you Tommy, I should call you Thomas? Who even calls you Thomas? Because I have never heard anyone..."

"Barbara, put it away! I was wrong, I was awkward, and I didn't know how to... I mean, I _knew_ you were more than a subordinate. That's why I wanted you there at my engagement party. But I navigated it badly. Remember that they put us together expecting us to fail because we are so different. It seems laughable now, in retrospect. But our differences weren't just about class or childhoods. Our entire worldviews were oppositional."

"And they're not anymore?"

"Of course they're not! We've both changed. Needs must! Look at what we've lived through. Look at how we've supported each other. We found a middle ground that has nothing to do with work or position or anything external. It's what makes us so strong, together. I mean, what are you doing in this car if you're not my friend, Barbara? And if you're my friend, why can't you call me by my name?"

Barbara's jaw stiffened. _He was trying to guilt her into being someone she wasn't. He was trying to pretend that his title and her working-class upbringing somehow didn't exist anymore. _

"It's ridiculous for you to get angry because I want to be treated as your equal in this relationship," he huffed.

"Relationship," she said the word like it was foreign.

"Yes. The connection between two humans who associate with each other."

"That relationship? They have words for it - workmates, work wives, whatever," she blushed. "No matter how friendly or close, it's the job. We can hang out for a pint, see each other get married, back each other up. But it's the _job_ that's the _association_. How many times has a copper retired and then no one sees them again until his funeral? Once the job is gone, the connection is gone, too."

"You don't believe that. I was gone for months and still..."

"But you were still my boss. You were always meant to come back."

"You're saying that everything you've done for me is because I'm your boss? And that everything I've done is because you're my subordinate? Everything?"

Barbara opened her mouth and then closed it. She fought back a small wave of panic, swallowing hard. "Why does it matter?"

"Because when we're off the job and you still call me sir, it infuriates me. A couple of weeks ago, at the pub, you called me sir and everyone else by their names and... it's not fair."

"It's not _fair_? How old are you?"

"Why do you hold onto this? Would it be so..." He sighed and looked away.

"So?"

"You call her Fiona," he repeated.

The silence pressed back between them, tense and uncomfortable. They were at the edge of a place they'd been before and never crossed into.

At last, Barbara sighed. "You're 'sir' to me. It's not an insult, you know."

"It's habit."

"It's not. That's how I think of you."

Tommy nodded and surrendered. He turned the car back on the motorway and hit the accelerator.

She didn't bother to speak again. She was out of words.

As the sign for their exit came into view, he said; "I'm reminded of the recording in Tube stations."

"Oh? What's that, sir?"

He met her eyes for a split-second, his expression surprisingly gentle. "Mind the gap." 


	2. It's Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Barbara discuss their partnership as a closed case re-opens and pulls them back to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm re-writing this story during our global quarantine since the original on FF is nearly 10 years old (gasp!). I don't have a beta for this updated version so please feel free to point out any inconsistencies or clunks! Thanks :)
> 
> *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Daze looked at her son fondly as he, in turn, watched the fire. "You're looking better," she announced. "It's been hard on you."

"Things _are_ better."

“…and Barbara?”

"She’s been well. Certainly had her share of scrapes and bruises with this business in Kent.”

"I saw on the news. Well, we're happy to be an antidote, Tommy,” she sighed. “I wish there was less on your shoulders.”

“It's fine," Tommy answered, settling into the leather chair with a shrug. “How do you like the new suite?”

“I’ve lived in the old one for the better part of 50 years. Adjustments take time.”

He nodded. His life was a testament to making adjustments. “But it’s sufficient to your needs?”

“Tommy, you’ve got me in a first-floor suite with no stairs, a bed that talks to me, a device that is always listening, and a walk-in shower that’s downright geriatric. What more could a person ask for?”

He lifted an eyebrow.

Daze indulged him with a small smile. “It’s fine, truly. And speaking of, I think it’s time to withdraw for the evening.” She stood with care, still favoring her injured hip.

Tommy stood as well and bussed her cheek, softly. “Sleep well.”

“And you,” she withdrew, pausing to remember to turn left instead of right to the stairs.

He sighed and poured himself another finger. Maybe two.

Barbara slipped into the room, nodding at his drink.

Obediantly, he flipped a fresh glass and poured her a splash. Barbara took it and settled opposite him by the fire.

She was in a dressing gown; a new one, he noted. "Thought you'd be asleep by now."

"So did I, but my mind’s still spinning,” Barbara shrugged. “I saw your mother just now. Are you sure she's all right with me being here?"

"Don't be absurd," his voice sharper than he intended. "She's delighted. As am I."

Barbara gave an inelegant snort. "_Delightful_."

“Don’t,” he ordered. "Just for tonight?"

“I wasn’t,” she rolled her eyes. “Why do you always think I’m spoiling for a row?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment, just stared through the bottom of his glass. “It’s been a long week.”

“It’s been a long year,” Barbara finished her Scotch, the warmth trickling down inside her chest. A picture of Tommy and Helen caught her eye.

“She put it back up,” Tommy followed her gaze. “Mother had taken most of the pictures down after the funeral.”

“I remember that one. Your engagement weekend.”

“That’s right,” he inhaled and thought about it. “Feels like a different life.”

Barbara held her silence. There was literally no way to put a foot right into this line of talk.

"You haven't asked my opinion," Tommy took her empty tumbler and placed it with his own on a tray.

“Come again?”

“If you're considering this because you think I'm about to be kicked upstairs, I can assure you that it won't happen. Not anytime soon. I won't let it. So don’t exile yourself to Kent as some kind of…preemptive move."

Barbara opened her mouth, surprised. "Why would my decision have anything to do with you?"

Tommy spun to face her, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why would it not?”

Helen rubbed her hand over her eyes. “For someone who wanted a peaceful night, you sure are poking the bear – _sir_.”

Tommy put the empty glass on the tray and shook his head. “Am I? Then, tell me, what happens to our partnership if you take the job?”

“I…”

“Do we just…stop? Christmas cards? Surprise guest at my retirement party? You tell me, Barbara.”

“I hadn’t thought that far. _Christ_,” She protested, beginning to feel like a suspect under questioning. “I’ve barely registered it, to be honest. That serial killer seemed to be more important. But you've got to admit it's a proper job - promotion tracked, a good boss, being able to afford someplace decent, a break from the endless cutbacks at the Met and wondering each time if my name is on the list.”

“That sounds like a lot of bloody _thought_!” Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good to know where our partnership falls on your priorities.”

“That’s not…”

“Stop,” he cut her off. “Please.”

Barbara held her silence. _Again_. Just breathing in and out and _not_ telling him what an aggravating, infuriating, condescending, imperious...

He met her eyes. “I apologize. This isn’t the time.”

“No,” she quickly agreed. “We’re tired.”

“That’s my cue to say good night,” his voice was deep and his face was lined with exhaustion.

“Yes, good night,” she echoed, pushing past him to the stairs.

When she blinked her eyes open the next morning, she had a jolt of surprise. She couldn’t remember falling asleep. She certainly didn’t feel like she’d gotten a wink.

Their argument was her first thought. Distracted, she showered and pulled on the first clothes in the case.

The breakfast table room was glowing with sunshine. Barbara accepted a hot coffee gratefully from the housekeeper and agreed to toast. With nowhere to be and no work pressing, she rested in a tufted armchair while reading the news and playing games on her phone.

“Hiya,” Tommy stuck his head in. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Right here,” Barbara stood and stretched.

“Walk?”

She nodded and they grabbed jackets and boots. For a long time, they didn’t talk. They had probably hiked a thousand miles, side by side, over the years: moving in step, their hands stuck in pockets, their eyes on the path ahead.

Barbara noted Tommy’s more relaxed expression. “Interviews went well, then?”

“Remarkably so. Barring surprises, I think we may have found a new estate manager.”

“Good news,” she exhaled with relief.

They stopped on a small hill. Barbara reached back and tucked her hair into her collar to keep the wind from throwing it in her face. Tommy gave her a wry smile, remembering the days when her hair had been short and badly chopped.

“Last night…” he began.

“Last night,” she agreed.

“I…I thought…you once said…”

She lifted a hand to stop him. “I doubt I’ll be taking the job.”

“The promotion, it means that much to you?”

“You’re really asking?”

“No. Of course it does,” he shook his head. “And you deserve it.”

“I know.”

He gave her a wry grin. “I think, perhaps, that…”

“You cast a long shadow, yeah.”

He sighed. In a tidal wave of understanding, he realized how little he’d done to support her. Protected her? Shielded her? Yes. But never championed her advancement. And he should have, he knew. “Barbara, I apologize. I just…”

“When you made chief, I figured that was me next. But it’s been months. My experience, my seniority, my scores on the exam...”

“You know the budget cutbacks. Some excellent detectives retire out at sarg…”

“Don’t you dare,” she cut him off. “Let’s not pretend that this isn’t politics. The Met can find pips when it wants.”

He turned his face to the sun and wisely fell silent.

Barbara looked around, taking in the fact that Lynley owned it all. She knew his family invested smartly and was fairly well managed but, still… it was vast and it was his responsibility. Too much to really even understand. Like trying to manage a million of anything. Luck of birth. He, to a fortune. Her, to so much misfortune.

“Barbara…we’ve been partners so long. Since…I had your flat painted ‘duck white’?”

“Against my will! I’d say before. Since…that twat, Tony Philips?”

“Since the first day,” Lynley admitted softly.

“Second,” she argued. “Maybe third.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised, sincerely. “But, perhaps, Kent _would_ be…”

“It would. But I’m not going to take it. At least, not yet.”

“Thank you,” Tommy put his hand on her shoulder. “This is you being nice to me and I’m grateful.”

Barbara frowned briefly and pulled her mobile from his pocket. “Huh. Nkata.” She answered it and warned him that the wind was too loud and she’d ring him back shortly.

In unison, they turned and began walking briskly back. They’d barely stepped into the back entrance when she turned her speaker on and pressed the number.

“That was fast,” Winston’s accent was sharp.

“Lynley is here as well.”

“Of course he is. Saves me a call anyway, sir,” there was a soft clicking noise. “Stephen Lawton wasn’t a suicide.”

“What? I thought this was…”

“I thought so too,” Winston cut her off. “But it was a heart attack.”

“He had a heart attack _after_ shooting himself?” Haver’s voice was thick with disbelief.

“We just got the report…”

“NOW? It’s been a bloody fortnight!” Tommy protested.

“This is the standard turnaround. Not everyone gets the special treatment, yeah?”

“Lafferty…”

“It wasn’t Lafferty. It was a civilian consultant. The point is that Lawton took Sildenafil – you’ll know it as Viagra. Seeing as he had a heart condition, he should never have been prescribed it and, sure enough, he must have had chest pains because he took nitroglycerin. Fatal combination. They estimate he was dead up to 30 minutes before he was shot.”

Havers and Lynley’s eyes met. “It’s not a crime to shoot a corpse…” she ventured.

“But it is one to attempt murder,” he countered. “Someone set him up.”

They could hear Nkata typing. “I’ve just emailed the findings. Are you going to be back in London or should I start following up…?”

“We’ll be there first thing in the morning,” Lynley decided.

“We’re going to drive all night?” She asked, ending the connection.

He glanced at his watch. “If we leave within the hour, we’ll be back before midnight.”

It took less than forty minutes to pack and say their farewells. One of the staff brought the Bentley to the door with a full tank and stowed their luggage.

Lynley deftly navigated the local roads until he could merge onto the A30. They both felt some of their tension lift as they began to make solid time to London.

“Review?” he threw her a sideways glance.

“Right,” she opened up the file on her phone. “The report is exactly what he told us. Lawton's heart wasn’t beating when he was shot.”

“Civilian consultant?”

“Uh, a woman named Mariam Felding.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Me neither. I’m forwarding the report to Lafferty to get his opinion.”

“What else do we have?” He considered. “Let’s review it all. Start with the timeline.”

“All right, at half-eight that evening the housekeeper…” She began ticking off what they knew in reverse, starting with Lawton being found. Once done, they walked through what they knew of the people who had last seen him. Barbara didn’t have much background since she’d left for Kent as soon as the preliminary suicide judgment had been made.

“Who’s the new DC?” he interrupted suddenly.

“Scarlett Thomas.”

“Get her notes.”

Barbara rang Thomas, who was surprised to get the call on a Sunday. Within moments they had pages and pages of the new detective’s stream of consciousness impressions and research.

“Tell me it isn’t all like this,” Tommy grumbled after Barbara read aloud Thomas’ impression of Lawton's receiving room. It included the adjectives: carpeted, well-lit, sumptuous, fancy, and spacious.

“Ah…” she scanned down. “Unfortunately, it is.”

“Good Lord,” he choked. “Well, onward.”

Rolling her eyes, Barbara began reading again. Tommy made a mental note to get Winston Nkata to work with the new DC about note-taking.

At dusk, they stopped in at an old pub just before the M4. Lynley got them a table as Barbara stepped through to the Ladies’.

“That was quick,” Barbara noted the two pints already on the table as she returned.

“Needs must,” he raised a toast.

She took a long swallow and sighed happily.

“What do you reckon?”

Barbara wiped her mouth. “Cressida Lawton.”

“The Australian niece?” he sat back, considering. “Not his estranged wife? She stands to inherit.”

“So does Cressida and she’s desperate.”

“_Desperate_?” he challenged.

“Until last year, she was living in Toowoomba and working part-time at a lodge.”

“So? Is it unheard of to have a job while in school?”

“No but….” They paused as the hamburgers and chips arrived.

“But?”

Barbara considered as she ate. “It’s just a hunch.”

“I’ve learned to respect your hunches.”

“Right. My impression is that Cressida grew up without much. The housekeeper described Cressida as…” She looked back at her own notes. “Vulgar. When pressed, uh, something along the lines of parvenu.”

“The _housekeeper_ said parvenu? That seems…”

“I got the distinct impression that she saw Cressida as an outsider who very much was using her uncle as a means to sudden wealth.”

“That doesn’t add up,” Tommy tapped on his mobile’s screen and exhaled slowly. “The Lawton family made their fortune in cotton in the 1800s and the family holdings are still substantial. Privately held so the numbers aren’t exact but there’s no way any of them would be in want.”

“Maybe she wanted a larger share,” she mused, tossing the last chip in her mouth.

Tommy glanced at his phone. “It’s middle of the night in Toowoomba. Let’s wait a few hours and give Cressida’s mother a ring. We’ll be awake in any event.”

“You’ll be,” she laughed, gathering her coat as they headed for the door. “No promises here.”

They were discussing the growing use of civilian ‘consultants’ at the Met when he glanced at the clock in the dash. “It’s morning there.”

“Right.”

Tommy pulled off the M4 at Maidenhead and found a deserted car park. Barbara opened an application on her phone that would record phone conversations and then a second that would allow her to ring international numbers cheaply from her mobile. The Met, bless its soul, never met a cost-saving measure it didn’t enforce.

“Hullo?” The reedy voice echoed into the car.

“Mrs. Lawton? This is Detective Sargeant Havers with the Met. I’m with Detective Chief Inspector Lynley. I’m obliged to tell you that we’re recording this conversation.”

“Recording? Police? I don’t understand.”

“You do have a daughter named Cressida, currently residing in London?”

“Uh, yes, but I’m not Mrs. Lawton. James and I never married. My name is Daisy Ward. Daisy Jumpworth Ward.”

“Mrs. Ward, you’re aware that Cressida's uncle, Stephen Lawton, has died? We’re the investigating officers.”

“Oh, I heard all right. Investigating what, now? They said it was suicide.”

“There have been a few developments. We’re trying to understand Cressida’s relationship to…”

“His niece. Whatever they want to say, Cressida is Stephen Lawton's rightful niece. James Lawton's daughter. As though that means anything to them,” her bitterness was clear from across the world.

“This what we’re trying to understand. There’s some disparity between Cressida and the other Lawton…”

Ms. Ward cut them off with a cold laugh. “Of course there is. They left my Cressy to rot, didn’t they?”

“Uh,” Barbara met Tommy’s eyes. “How so?”

There was a cry and the background and some rustling noise. “One tic. Lizzi wants her brekky, don’t you? No, Liam, put down that kettle!”

They waited a few moments and the line went quiet. “Sorry, we overslept so breakfast routine’s gone higgledy piggledly. Where was I?”

“Cressida’s upbringing?”

“Let’s be clear, she never wanted for anything. My children have a good life though it’s obviously not to _their_ standards." 

“Her father didn't provide support?” Tommy wondered.

“Hardly! James, despite his fancy Jabiru, claimed to have practically no income. My mum helped pay for investigators to dig receipts out of the trash and take pictures of his restaurant orders. Why? Because the man _did not care_. In the end, he was ordered to pay 500 dollars a month. I don’t know what that is in pounds or Euros but let me tell you it wasn’t enough. Thank God for Kai, who has practically raised her as his own.” 

Lynley held up his phone with a currency calculator for Havers to see: roughly 259 pounds. She rolled her eyes in frustration.

They heard Daisy’s loud whisper, “Kai, could you take them? It’s the police from England asking about James…_I don’t know_…yeah, OK…” There was a soft kissing sound and some rustling.

“Mrs. Ward, what happened to James?”

“Oh, he could be anywhere. The money is wired to my account regular from England. James lives for deep-sea fishing. He’s sent a few postcards to Cressy over the years – the last one was from Guatemala, I believe. If you’re looking for him, Robert would be the one to know.”

“Robert?” Barbara shook her head.

“Robert, Cressida’s brother?”

“Uh…”

“You lot don’t know a thing, do you?” Daisy groaned. “James had a son named Robert. James carried the boy’s baby picture in his wallet – he was a ginger. He'd be about 30, now? I can’t tell you much more.”

“Uh, one last thing, Mrs. Ward. Does Cressida have plans to return to Australia?”

“Oh, absolutely. She's a bright one, our Cressy - you should see her ATARs. When she accepted at UNSW, I emailed Stephen - he's the only one who ever gave a damn. Oh. Do you think someone killed him? I mean, proper murder? Was it over those young girls?"

"That's what we're trying to determine," Lynley answered smoothly. "So you were in regular contact with him?"

"I don't if you'd call it regular. He sent her a card every birthday and Christmas with Australian dollars in it and emailed me sometimes - like when their mother passed away. He gave Cressy this gap year as a gift for HSC and pledged to pay all her costs for a uni degree. He put it in some kind of fund, I have the paperwork somewhere. It should still be hers even though he’s passed, right?”

“It’s probably best you engage a solicitor, Mrs. Ward.”

“Oh, of course. This family will be the end of me! Sometimes I wish I never met James.”

After they’d ended the call, Tommy and Barbara were quiet for a long moment. “None of this was in the constable’s notes. What was Nkata thinking?”

“Winston was on vacation,” she reminded him. “DI Leonard had the case after me.”

“Well, that explains things,” he sighed. Leonard was a known sloth. “All right, set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. The press is going to pillory the Met once this gets out.”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, tapping out the email on her phone.

He threw a grateful smile at her. Within moments, they were back on the M4 and speeding towards London.


	3. Keep pressure on it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lynley and Havers rush to solve a murder that's turning cold. At the same time, Lynley considers what it means to love someone - do you keep them close even if it means holding them back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the original (written 10 years ago!) and the updated draft split. The original was all about their work in fast forward while they fell in love. This one takes away a lot of that "background noise" and puts the focus on their relationship.

Tommy stopped in front of Barbara's building fighting back a yawn.

He nudged her gently with his elbow. "We're here," his voice sounded too loud.

"Ah," she rubbed her face and clicked off the seat belt. "I drifted off."

"Yes. Asleep on the job. Poor navigator you are."

She raised an eyebrow at the glowing sat nav in the dash. He pretended not to notice and followed her outside into the chill.

"I'd offer you a drink but..."

"I think it's nearly two," he agreed, pulling her rucksack from the trunk and handing it over. "See you later, then?"

"See ya," she agreed, heading up the walk. "Drive safe."

Tommy waited until he saw her lights pop on before pulling away. Barely six hours later, he strode into the Met with his cashmere overcoat dusted in snow and his black coffee already cold in the carafe.

She was leaning against his door tapping into her tablet.

"Did you sleep?"

"Epic nap in the car," Havers reminded him. "AC Evans is popping out of the lift in less than a minute, let me update you."

"Please do," he swiped to unlock the door and dropped his coat on the rack.

He was dressed in black wool slacks and a pale pink shirt she knew had been made for him at Turnbull and Asser. _Those were his war clothes_. "You already knew about Evans."

"The commissioner herself phoned me bright and early. Last night, _The Daily Mail_ posted their first article on this whole fiasco. _The Times_ can't be far behind."

Havers rolled her eyes. "First of all, DI Leonard has done a runner."

"You're joking," Lynley groaned. 

"I wish I was. He phoned in sick at some hour and hasn't answered since."

"I hope..."

"I've re-opened the file and Scarlett scanned his most recent report in. There's not much. He spoke with the widow via email so we..."

"He WHAT?"

"She was in Gibraltar and Leonard wrote that he was unsure of the time difference so reached out by email for the sake of courtesy."

"One hour," Tommy shook his head. "They are one bloody hour ahead. How did that lazy, sloppy..."

Barbara caught his eyes. Her expression reminded him that she was still a Detective Sargeant and perhaps Tommy shouldn't complain about white, male, Detective Inspectors who got their pips based on being a third-generation copper. 

He stopped, inhaled, "Anything of use?"

"Lady Judith was the epitome of tact. Said Stephen's death was a horrible shock and that she appreciated the efforts of the police to investigate the details so the family could put him to rest."

"That's not of use."

"She was due back last night and heading directly to the Lawton country home in Nottingham for the holidays." 

"And the body - "

"Buried privately at the family cemetery in Nottingham last week."

"The estranged wife - "

"Was not there. According to the housekeeper, she and Cressida were the only attendees outside of the vicar."

"The Will?"

"Being read in Nottingham tomorrow afternoon. Any bets that the family will show up for _that_?"

"What about - "

"Lafferty has only had a chance to skim the reports. Viagra and nitroglycerin are a fatal combination - they create something called cardiac collapse. His GP should never have prescribed them together. If I had to guess, I'd say Lawton got ahold of the viagra on his own. I've got Winston and Scarlet tracking down the GP, the pills, the prescription, the pharmacy, everything they can. But Lafferty was clear - Lawton was either unconscious or already dead when he was supposed to have shot himself."

"How can he not know for sure?"

"Cardiac collapse meant no blood pressure so..." Barbara shrugged.

Tommy squeezed the bridge of his nose, already weary of the whole thing. "Killing a living person is a crime. Shooting a corpse is a misdemeanor at best. We _really_ need to know."

"Lafferty is doing what he can. Brace yourself for an exhumation request."

"No, no, no." He didn't want to imagine the media nightmare that would bring. Taking a deep breath to clear his thoughts, Lynley attempted a grim smile for his partner. "Thank you for all this. Sometimes I think you can read my mind, scary as that sounds."

"Hardly," she scoffed. "I'm just doing the job. These are the lines of inquiry Leonard should have followed."

"Well, let me add that the weapon has been identified as Lawton's own and only his fingerprints on the casings. I had a look at the SOCO reports before I headed in. The housekeeper, Stephen and Cressida were the only fingerprints found on the open surfaces. You saw the chaos. They didn't hav a chance to process much else before the case was considered closed."

"Lynley!" AC Evans stepped in. "What in the world happened? The Commissioner and the press are demanding a proper result. And I mean _now_."

"Sir," Tommy looked up. "Will you be joining the meeting?"

"Absolutely not. Tell me everything you've got and then get them moving. Whatever you need."

Barbara gave the Assistant Commissioner a nod as she left the office. Evans didn't acknowledge her.

_______________________________________________________________

"Julian Robert Lawton-Jones," Winston Nkata informed them with triumph just after lunch. "Get this – he's a ranger at Sherwood Forest. Like, ROB-in Hood?"

Neither Havers nor Lynley cracked a smile.

"Fine, fine. Be that way, then." He handed over some printouts to Lynley, who scanned them quickly.

"And we're _sure_ he's Cressida's brother?" 

"See for yourself," Winnie answered, turning his phone so they could see the picture. It was a screen capture from the official website - the man had short-cropped ginger hair, thin lips that were lifted at the corners, and a deep green jumper with his name embroidered below a logo. 

"He could be Cressida's twin. Well, not the hair."

"He could. And he was a right pain to suss out. From what I found, he never came to Britain until he was 12 years old."

"So how'd you find him?" Barbara leaned against his desk. 

"The newspapers," Nkata pointed to the papers he'd handed their boss. "Stephen announced as the conservative candidate for Nottingham East and a week later, Cressida's mother filed for child maintenance. The doting couple did damage control, giving a major interview to _The Times._"

Tommy held up a full-color copy of the family playing with bubbles on a manicured lawn. He saw the name in the caption; "...nephew Robert Lawton-Jones (12)..." 

"Bingo," Winnie crossed his arms, a smirk of accomplishment on his face. "This was just the first crumb, however. As it happens, James and Olivia did not deposit the marriage or birth certificates with the General Register Office."

"How is that possible?" 

"You don't _have_ to deposit them if you aren't living here. However, the name and age led me to the Sherwood Forest website, where they have a neat bio for the man. Many more crumbs. So, James Lawton met ex-pat Olivia Winstead-Jones in Morrocco 32 years ago. The sandy delights of La Corniche led from one thing to another and our Rob was the result. James left and Olivia moved baby Rob to Gibraltar where they lived until her death of cancer. At that point, he disappears for two years."

"_Disappears_?"

Nkata shrugged. "He pops up in England at age 12, as you see. He's then listed as a boarder at Priory Park. Still to confirm the rest of his profile - degree in Environmental Science, qualification in countryside management, 5 years volunteering at Peak District National Park. Let's assume the bit about cataloging over 1000 species of Bees and Insects in Sherwood Forest is true."

"Yes, let's. What about the databases?" 

"No criminal history. He was vetted for the job and we have his amended birth record. He drives a Nissan Leaf - no tickets, no infractions. He used the adress of the Lawton manor, 'Kingship', until 3 years ago when he bought a newly built 2-bed bungalow in Edwinstowe and installed solar panels."

"Mortgage?"

"Not listed."

"Marriage? Children?"

"Nothing."

"What about Lady Judith?"

"You probably know better than I, sir," Nkata's voice was cheeky.

Lynley looked unamused.

"Fine," He dropped his glasses down on his nose and read from his mobile, "Fourth daughter of Charles Keswick, Earl Keswick, by his second wife. Widow of Brian Finley of Cornwall. Two sons: Jago and Logan. Widow of former MP Stephen Lawton of London and Nottingham."

"That's a lot of widowing," Havers mused.

"Two for two," Nkata agreed. "James and Stephen also have a sister, Viola. She was injured in a car accident about ten years ago and is confined to a wheelchair. She has a boy and a girl - both at Uni in London."

"I wasn't aware Viola was still alive. I remember the accident. Horrible thing," Tommy sighed.

"She lives in a special home up in Yorkshire."

"Check if she's being brought to the reading of the Will. And if she can be interviewed, do it. Have the new DC go through the CCTV again for the night Lawton died and double-check the alibis for Cressida and the housekeeper. Track down the whereabouts of Judith's sons and see if you can fill the gap in Rob's life. And stay in touch, Evans will be giving a press briefing at five so we have to move quickly."

"Light day, then?"

"Quite. I'll approve any help you need and the overtime," Tommy stood and gathered his things. "Ready, Havers?"

"Are we going to Sherwood Forest?" Barbara inquired, quickly following him.

"We are, indeed."

It was dusk when Lynley pulled the Bentley onto the gravel drive of Kingship Manor. Evans had just finished haranguing them over speakerphone as they arrived. 

"That was pleasant," Tommy rubbed the back of his neck as he turned off the engine.

"We've been through worse," Barbara met his eyes with a half-smile. "That must be our ranger."

The front door of the stately Regency was flanked by four high pillars. They watched for a moment as a thin man leaned against one nonchalantly, smoking.

"Mr. Lawton-Jones?"

He stubbed out the cigarette and pocketed the butt. "You're the police from London?"

Lynley and Havers flashed their warrant cards. The green collar of his uniform shirt peeked through his coat as Rob led them up the steps and into the foyer of the house.

"Lovely," Tommy looked in appreciation at the massive marble floor and 40-foot domed ceiling. 

"Wow," Barbara stared at the 25-foot Christmas tree draped in white fairy lights and red ornaments at the center of the room.

"It's not real. I mean, the wood is but the branches are all artificial. People love it, though. Lots of weddings this time of year. Lady Judith administers the house and the lands. She's first-rate. The manor is open to the public for events and such but closed holidays like Christmas for us family." He paused and went a little pale as if realizing for the first time that Stephen would not be there. 

"Is she staying here, now?"

"There's a guesthouse at the back of the garden. Lady Judith calls it 'the cottage' but she's stretching the term," Rob smiled wryly. 

"Did she move in last year, then?" Lynley alluded to his uncle's scandal. 

"Last year? No," Rob shook his head. "She hates London and only stayed at Kingship during school holidays when the boys were here. The cottage is her home."

The trio walked the rooms, looking around. Robert talked a bit about the manor's history before pointedly checking his watch.

"We appreciate the tour," Tommy told him as they made their way back to the foyer. "I have to ask, where were you the night of your uncle's death?"

"Oh, home I would imagine. Getting a few hours' kip." 

"You're sure?"

"Oh, aye," His accent was a strange mix of Spanish and old-fashioned Midlands. "The BBC is doing a film of some kind and I've had my hands full with it, sometimes twenty hours a day."

"Documentary?"

Rob shook his head. "Some nonsense with folk living the winter in the forest as if they were Robin Hood and his Merry Band. They're a hazard to the entire ecosystem."

"What about your aunt?"

"Lady Judith? I wouldn't know," Rob led them outside and locked the door carefully, setting the alarm system. "You asking means it's murder like they said?"

"We're looking into it," was all Lynley could confirm. "What do you think of your new sister, Cressida?"

"Oh, Cressy's all right. Just looking for her place like we all do. Always skint like any kid."

"And do you give her money?"

"Oh sure, fifty quid here and there. You don't think..."

"Just covering all the angles," Barbara assured him. "Do you know where James is?"

"James?" Rob gave them a blank look. "I've only met him twice. He likes fish."

"So we heard." 

Lynley pulled the car out of the drive ahead of Rob and turned them towards Judith's place. The Bentley didn't even have a chance to warm up before they made the turn into her private drive.

"He calls his aunt 'Lady Judith'," Havers mused. "Is that common in your set?"

His expression was baleful. "Even the Queen answers to 'Gan-Gan'. Maybe it's because he didn't meet his family until he was older that he's more formal with them?"

"Nah, he used 'Cressy'.... oh my....she calls that a _cottage_?" Barbara's eyes widened as they approached. It was a stately red-brick Georgian lit up with tasteful spotlights. An oversized wreath hung on the shiny black door. 

Flurries of snow had begun to blow as they jogged from the car. Judith met them in a grey twinset and pearls. Her solicitor stood at her elbow, ready to monitor the interview.

"I've heard from Robert that the police misclassified my husband's death. Terrible thing."

"We're looking into it. When was the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Lawton?"

"Three months ago when we met in London about the divorce."

Barbara nodded as she took notes. "And not since?"

"As I said."

"Was the divorce final, then?"

She glanced at her solicitor who shook his head. "Lady Judith and Mr. Lawton were legally still married at the time of his death."

"Right. And where were you the night he died?"

"You mean do I have an alibi besides being 150 miles away? It was my turn to host the Bridge Club. I had a house full of people until eleven. After that, I went to sleep. My house cleaners arrived the following morning promptly at eight."

"No one saw you in the meantime?"

She sighed. "Technically, no. But I have a comprehensive security system with cameras and such. The footage is saved indefinitely in the cloud."

"We'll need access to that."

Judith and her solicitor exchanged a glance and she nodded.

"I'll email you the particulars."

"What's your impression of Stephen's London housekeeper?"

"Mrs. Griffiths? Deathly loyal to Stephen, jealous of anyone else around him, nervous as a cat, and the best housekeeper I've ever seen."

"And Cressida?"

She pursed her lips in obvious disapproval. "She was obviously his new pet. The first time I met her, cash went missing from my purse. But Stephen would refuse to hear a word against her so why bother?"

Lynley then pushed for details about Lawton marriage and the circumstances around Stephen's fall from grace but the solicitor cut him short at every try.

"We are trying to ascertain anyone who may have had a grudge against your husband," he reminded her, frustration creeping into his voice.

"That has nothing to do with me," she responded. "His proclivities, loathsome as they may seem, were not related to my life in any way. You will have to discover the names and details without my help. It is a job you chose over any other, _Lord Asherton_. I assume you will do it well."

Tommy sighed. "And you chose Stephen over any other, Lady Judith. One would assume you would want to find justice for him."

"Justice is in the eye of the beholder," she bit back with a tight smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am done with this interview. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."

After a fruitless hour, Barbara and Tommy were back in the car and headed towards their accommodations. It had begun to snow in earnest while they were doing their interview and he drove carefully on the unfamiliar roads. The car managed beautifully, of course. 

"What was that, back there? _Lord Asherton_ and _Lady Judith_?"

"We were at Oxford at the same time. Different colleges but we knew of each other."

"Rubbed elbows at Ascot?"

"Hardly!" He threw her a funny look. "We were kids. That's all. Having a laugh and making poor decisions."

Barbara fell quiet, watching her breath fog up the window by her cheek. _Oxford_. _Judith_. _Deborah. Deborah and St. James and Helen and...Tommy_. 

He pulled into a petrol station, unexpectedly. "Just a tic," he told her, sliding from the car but leaving the engine on. 

When he returned, he dropped a paper bag in her lap. "It's late and I don't know the last time we ate."

"Cafe in Lutterworth," she pulled out a pop tart and a bottle of water. "But there's a pub near the hotel if you wanted."

"No," he shook his head, paying closer attention to the directions as the snow thickened even more. They arrived at the hotel at half-eight and had just received their room keys when Lafferty's number lit up on Havers' phone. 

"Come to mine," Lynley instructed, leading the way. "We can talk to him together."

"Mine's closer, I think."

"Mine's a suite."

"Yours," she agreed. 

Tommy regularly upgraded from the government's base lodging allowance to allow himself a larger bed. At over six feet, he didn't sleep comfortably when cramped. At this hotel, a 'suite' turned out to be a larger corner room with a king-sized bed and two armchairs across an electric fire. Barbara dropped into the nearest one and dialed Stuart on speaker. 

"Was he alive when he was shot?" She asked before the pathologist had a chance to say 'Hello'. 

"Did you know that the term _autopsy_ comes from the Greek 'to see for oneself'?" the pathologist asked. "Without the body, I can't say for certain."

"Best guess, Lafferty," Lynley demanded.

"Perforating head wound. She did a skull x-ray which is just unacceptable. We needed a CT or MRI to prove this and we don't have it, Tommy." 

"Best guess,'" he repeated.

"He was alive when shot. The blood loss indicates the heart was still pumping if barely."

"You think it was murder?"

"Look at it this way, he could not have lifted that weapon - much less have pulled the trigger - when he died. He wouldn't have had the strength. In fact, Lawton was probably already unconscious. We can't prove that but we can infer it strongly from his labs and the evidence at the scene."

"He would have died even without the gunshot wound?"

"Almost definitely. The drug interaction was fatal without intervention."

"So are we looking at two murders or one who was covering up the Viagra with a gunshot?"

"That's your purview, not mine. But if pressed? I would say most probably the same person or conspiracy. There was another undigested tablet of nitroglycerin still in his stomach. This all happened quickly."

"Any signs of sexual activity?"

"And there it gets even stranger. Traces of a spermicidal agent like those found in condoms, but no indications of ejaculation."

"What does that mean? Could he have sex with his heart condition?"

"I don't tend to living patients, remember? You'll have to ask his GP for specifics."

"Thanks, Lafferty," Barbara said sincerely. "I know this wasn't the best of circumstances."

"You have no idea. Mariam has left me five outraged messages demanding to know why I was reviewing her report. She's a piece of work, that one."

"I owe you one," she promised.

"Five. You owe me five," he corrected, laughing. 

They rang Winston next.

"We might have a lead," Nkata reported. "Lawton's carrier just sent over the list of his last calls. A couple of local numbers and one with a Midlands prefix, unregistered mobile."

"Track it down."

"Will do, Guv."

By then, the week caught up with them both. Lynley was about ready to doze off sitting up. He looked over at Barbara, who was staring into the orange light. Her pink cheeks made him smile.

"What?" Barbara demanded.

"Nothing," he dismissed. He looked down at where their knees were almost touching. An almost overwhelming impulse to put his hand on her leg surprised him and he pulled back suddenly.

"Really, _what_?" she asked again, her eyes watching him narrowly.

He watched her right back. "Tell me what you're thinking," he challenged. He felt his heartbeat race a little with the audacity of it.

"We need to track down Cressida before the reading tomorrow."

"Not the case."

"What else is there?"

"When Helen and I were separated, there was a night…"

"I remember," she said quickly as if to stop him from talking.

"You talked about a reason to get up in the morning."

"Yes. The job."

"It's more than that."

She stared back at him for a long moment but held her silence. Barbara remembered a time when she struggled realizing how much a part of her life he'd become. When she'd been shot, his voice was the sound that had anchored her. She'd known it would be all right because he'd been right there. There was no pedestal under his feet and he was still a pompous toff, but he was also brilliant and loyal and big-hearted. And the closest thing she had to a friend.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

She yawned. "I'm thinking we've gone 400 miles in 48 hours. I'm done in."

"Right," he acquiesced. "But Barbara, look - if it's one thing I've learned lately; don't make decisions out of fear."

"Begging pardon, I'm not afraid of anything except losing the job."

"Barbara," he touched her arm, gently.

"Oh, hush."

He dropped his hand and nodded, surrendering. They didn't have to solve everything in a single snowy night.

Barbara pushed away from the chair and headed out with her rucksack. 

Tommy followed and leaned against the door for a long moment after she'd gone. 


	4. The Longest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a single crazy day of interviews, Havers and Lynley discover that the women in Lawton's life loved him - all except his wife. Meanwhile, Havers has to face the fact that Lynley fancies himself romantically interested in her. Considering that it could mean the end of their partnership, she prepares to set him straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I downloaded Grammarly since I have no betas anymore. Please tell me what I miss, though. I'm a perfectionist with my writing! THANKS. This is a long chapter but I knew I didn't want to snip it because of where it ends! :)

Barbara exited the steamy bathroom the next morning feeling like she needed another 8 hours of sleep, but there was nothing for it. She changed and packed her things. 

Lynley was already downstairs sipping coffee and chatting with one of the staff. He looked disgustingly nonetheless for wear.

"There she is!" he raised a hand in greeting as he spotted Barbara. "Hungry?" 

"Starved, thanks," Barbara admitted, sitting down and taking one of the toast triangles piled high. 

"Winston texted."

"I saw. _Beeston_? Why does she want to meet us..." She trailed off in thought.

"What?"

"The train. I think Beeston's the last stop before Nottingham." 

"And you think that because..."

"Felix Thatcher, Year 12."

"_Felix Thatcher_?"

"His gran lived in Nottingham. We visited."

"Year 12, you were on a train to Nottingham to meet _Felix's gran_?"

Barbara's cheeks colored but she didn't give him any more details.

"Was it that serious? Meet-the-gran serious?"

Barbara pulled the pot of jam closer and began slathering.

"Or was there another reason for taking a long train ride à deux?"

She took a large bite, crunching loudly. 

"I wonder whatever happened to poor Felix?"

She rolled her eyes.

"You told me there were no more skeletons in your closet. This was a glaring omission. Was Felix forgettable?"

"Done, now?"

He finished the last of coffee with a grin. "Done."

"The roads are cleared; they're good about that sort of thing 'round these parts," the staff member said proudly, clearing their tableware. "Though the app says another storm's coming, I think you two should be fine - especially with that fine automobile you've got out there."

They glanced out the window, snow as far as they could see with a black ribbon of road neatly cutting through.

"We should be on our way, anyway."

Barbara glanced at the time and agreed.

They gathered their things and within minutes, they were heading towards Beeston.

Tommy fell into silence as he drove. The wind blew the loose snow against the windscreen, keeping his attention on the road as they made several turns in quick succession. Once they got on Derby Road, though, he put his foot down with relief.

"You love this car." 

"I do," he was unashamed.

"Never thought you would love again like this...after the Bristol."

"The Bristol is safely in a garage at Howenstow, ready for a jaunt. No sympathy needed, thank you. It was past time for something with modern features."

"Plenty of new cars cost less than a detached home."

"You can't put a price tag on the safety features."

"And yet, they did."

"What? So you'd be happier if we were riding in a Panda?"

"At least then you wouldn't park us so far from every other car, terrified of a scratch," she teased. "Though I'm not sure you'd fit in one."

"I'm sure I'll never try," he quipped.

She laughed, conceding the point. The Bentley made excellent time to the small restaurant. As Barbara had predicted, it was across from the train station.

Cressida Lawton waited on the steps in a long coat made of deep purple fake fur and black boots with spike heels. Her platinum blonde hair was up in an Ariana Grande ponytail.

Tommy found himself eye-to-eye with her, a rare experience with women.

"You're the detectives?" she asked, demanding identification. 

Satisfied, they headed in from the cold. The place was empty and felt grimy with age. Tommy got them all coffee and Cressida immediately added a full breakfast to the tab.

"You two are paying," she announced instead of asking. 

Tommy nodded. "How long have you been in England?" 

"A year, mostly. Mum wanted me to stay for Christmas with the kids so I left a couple of days later."

"When was the last time you saw your uncle?"

"Oh," she thought a moment. "That day? Or the one before? I mean, when did he die? The Friday or the Saturday?"

"Well, which day did you see him?"

"Thursday."

"What did you talk about?"

"Oh, I want to redecorate my flat."

"Your flat? You don't live at your Uncle's home?"

"Mrs. Griffiths, have you met her? Oh, I bet she loved you," Cressida appraised Lynley for a long moment, her expression flirty. "You're a toff. Just her type."

Barbara hid a smile. She'd noticed the exact same prejudice in the housekeeper.

"What about her?" 

"She ran me off the first month I was here."

"Ran you off, how?"

"Oh, she's not right in the head. I could never find my bag or phone - they'd be moved to the strangest places. My clothes would get shrunk or suddenly be missing a button. My sheets would be itchy. My toothpaste would taste off. I'm allergic to nuts and I swear, once I found my keys in a bowl of chestnuts. Each time, she'd pretend to know nothing. Like I was imagining things or I'd done it myself."

"And you're sure it was her?"

"Who else was there?"

"I'd think Judith..."

"You don't buy that whole thing, do you? The press made all this noise about her leaving Uncle Steve but she wasn't living in London in the first place. We met once, my second day here. Then she was a ghost. No, it was dear Mrs. Griffiths. Anyway, I had proof."

"How so?"

"One morning, I propped my tablet against the bookcase with the camera on before leaving. When I got back, I had all the evidence I needed. She's bonkers. Threw my jewelry under my bed, hid one of my favorite shoes and then took _all my thongs_. Stuffed them in a basket and walked out my door. Defo. Weirdo. I went straight to Uncle Steve. He didn't even seem phased by the video. Told me that he could fire Mrs. G but he preferred to make everyone happy by getting me a flat of my own. Good deal, right?"

"Very," Barbara was a little stunned. _Property in London wasn't cheap and Stephen Lawton had been willing to hand over that change to keep a teenager happy? _"So where do you live?"

"Chapel Market. Nice enough. Got a roomie, Evie; she's studying to be a nurse, too. My uncle figured that Evie's rent would cover my expenses but that's mental. You try living on six hundred a month."

"Nursing school? Your mother expects you back next month for the start of term," Lynley challenged, his voice a bit accusatory.

"You spoke to mum?" Cressida lifted her head in surprise. "Why'd you do that?"

"We're investigating your uncle's death."

"Doesn't give you any right to call my mum."

"Maybe you should, though?" Barbara asked, her voice surprisingly gentle. 

"She won't get it," Cressida's expression was long-suffering. 

"What about your father? Have you met him since you've been in England?"

"In June. After the story broke about Uncle Steve, the paparazzi were horrid. He told me I should leave town before anyone could say I was one of _those_ girls. As if. But he called my father and - presto! - family time up in Nottingham. You've seen it, right? Kingship?"

They nodded.

"Can you believe it?" She smiled. "Would you go back to a small town in Australia if you knew you had a stash like that? It's not _perfect - _no clubs anywhere. And, seriously, the local practically doubles as a care home."

"Did everyone get on? Any resentments about Stephen's situation?"

"Situation? That's a way to put it. We were all fine. Well, not dear Aunt Lady Judith but when is she ever? Kept telling me to clean and tried to put me in some bedroom in the attic. I was like, seriously? I'm not Cinderella. And those kids of hers? Little princes like...have you ever seen one of those Pekingese dogs? That's Jago. In my face yap-yap-yap and I was like, boy, back yourself up. And the other one? He's the real dog - needs neutering," Cressida wagged a finger with long, glittery nail. "Their mother thinks if the world calls them Lawtons then they are Lawtons. Nope."

"What do you mean?" Barbara met Tommy's eye; they were both confused. 

"Oh, you didn't know she changed their surnames? I guess it's recent. My father was like.." she made an explosion noise. "Huge row with Judith. _Huge_."

Tommy cleared his throat. "So that Thursday, what happened?"

"Nothing," she shook her head. "I mean, it was just a regular visit. He used to take me to the poshest places, anywhere I wanted. But after him resigning and all, we had to stay in. Mrs. G sent off to whatever hole she burrows in and takeaway curry and chips for us. It's chill. It _was_ chill." 

"So that night," Tommy pressed, "Nothing unusual?"

She thought a moment. "Mrs. G was on her way out when I arrived. I got the impression there was someone upstairs but I didn't ask."

"Male? Female?"

Cressida shrugged. "I can't even be sure. It was just a feeling."

"Then?"

"Then my mate picked me up and Uncle Steve slipped me 50 pounds when he saw me out," Her face fell in memory. 

"And you have no idea who would want your uncle dead?"

She didn't answer for a long moment, looking out the large window. Then she used the edge of a finger to make sure her eyes were dry of any tears. "You mean if it really was murder? Every family of every girl who ever took him up on his offer, right? But Lady Judith will say I did it."

"Pardon?"

"Mrs. G and dear Lady Judith think I'm the worst thing to happen to the family."

"Is that so?"

"Here's what's funny - without Uncle Steve, that housekeeper is nothing. Buh bye. And without Uncle Steve, Lady Judith's precious boys are just some _former_ stepkids. And Kingship? There's no way Uncle Steve would leave that to her - it stays in the _family_. So they can think whatever they like as long as they're packing while they do it."

"It sounds like, without Stephen - you and Rob gain everything." 

"I never said that. I don't know what's in the Will. No one does yet. I just know what's _not_," she waved her hand. "Speaking of, I gotta jet. Train's in 10."

"Ring us if you remember anything else, yeah?" Havers held up her card.

Cressida shook her head and tapped her phone. A chirp immediately sounded on Barbara's and she looked down, a little surprised. 

"Just text me your contact info. Those cards are killing the environment. And straws. OK, see ya."

After settling the bill, Lynley reached out an arm to Havers. The wind had kicked up and he used his body to try and shield her as they jogged to the car. Once settled, he turned to face her. "She's not what I was expecting."

"No."

"Who did that initial interview that described her as...what was it? Parvenu?"

"It was more like 'money-grubber' and it was me - interviewing Mrs. Griffiths."

"Who, apparently, steals thongs."

"And has job immunity."

"_Had_ job immunity. Remember that was before the news came out. His housekeeper must have known; we need to interview her again."

"Winston says she's not answering her mobile or Lawton's house phone."

"Do we have her address?"

Barbara nodded.

"All right, then," Tommy exhaled. "Meanwhile, I don't see what Cressida had to gain. It sounds like 'Uncle Steve' was taking well care of her."

"A 2-bed flat in Islington, tuition, dinners? I'd say."

"Out of the goodness of his heart?"

They neither had an answer for that. Lynley put the Bentley in gear and set them off. 

Mansfield had been a coal town, long ago. They drove past bits of colliery and old railway tracks to the far side of town to park along brick terraced houses that had seen better times. 

The door swung open as they approached. "Come in from the cold!"

Tommy and Barbara dutifully stamped the snow off their shoes before following the rail-thin mother to the kitchen. She put the kettle on before asking if they wanted any.

The room had probably been built in the 1900s and the wallpaper screamed the 1990s - but the appliances had obviously been updated. They were all modern and the washer was spinning quietly. Two young women were already sat at the table. 

"That's my eldest, Deirdre. She's the one that got our Bess the job with that man."

They both nodded. Deirdre, the image of her mother, didn't make a sound of welcome. Bess was flashy in comparison - skinny jeans and a tight velour jumper, bright red hair, and cat's eye make-up. 

"It was murder, isn't it?" She immediately demanded. "That's why you're here all the way from London."

"We're investigating the circumstances," was all Lynley would give her. 

"Bess! We start our conversations with 'Hello' in this house!"

"Hello," she parrotted. "So...who killed Steve? Because he never killed himself. You know that, right? He loved life more than anyone."

"That's what we're looking into," Barbara leaned forward but it was no use. Bess had immediately focused on her partner.

"So, Deirdre, you got your sister the job with Stephen Lawton?" Lynley prompted.

Deirdre nodded.

"She was in a training scheme."

"Is that right? For what?"

"Solicitor," their mother called proudly as she poured water into two mugs with the local football team logo.

"Lawyer," Deirdre corrected, her voice naturally soft. "I'm just doing my LPC now. This was a vacation scheme while I was in law school."

"The girls went down that March and stayed with my cousin. It was a _very_ upscale London firm. "

"Which one?"

Deirdre didn't answer.

"I don't remember exactly but it was one of the Magic Circle," Bess glanced at her sister with exasperation.

Her mother carefully placed one of the mugs in front of Lynley with a smile. She left the other for Barbara.

"And that led to your introduction with Stephen Lawton?"

"Steve's dog carer wouldn't sign an NDA and Deirdre told them I would so, voilà!" 

"You're a _dog carer_?"

"I've got my certificate," Bess answered smugly. 

"Our notes said you were his assistant."

"Oh, sure. Once Vulcan died, Steve just kept me."

"Vulcan?"

"A red and white Cardigan Welsh corgi. Steve loved him madly."

"How did he die?"

"Run over by a car."

Lynley and Havers exchanged a long look. 

"Oh, don't blame _me_. I was up in bed with Steve - "

"BESS!" Her mother turned slightly red.

"Well, I was. It was his crazy housekeeper. Afterward, she told Steve that she didn't see Vulcan when she came back with shopping. Seriously? How do you miss a dog two stone and two feet long as it squeezes past? Hmm? She as good as killed Vulcan and I told him so."

Barbara took a sip of the unasked-for tea and thought a moment. "And he kept you on as an assistant? Did you have qualifications for that as well?"

"Hardly," Bess winked. "It was just a way of keeping me in London; not that he had any shortage of girls who wanted to be with him. He had us coming and going - private clubs, fancy dinners, name it. Did you know he could dance, like, amazing? Totally Jay McGuiness or Tom Holland - just ancient. Some women like that, in an older man," She gave Lynley a long, flirty smile. "Do you dance?"

"And you're telling us this despite the non-disclosure?" Barbara tried not to sound as impatient as she felt. 

"Oh, sure."

"How so?"

"The penalty," Deirdre explained. "It was horrendous, of course, but it specified breach as disclosure of anything learned while _in his employ as a dog carer_."

"When Vulcan died," Bess held up her hands with a smile. "I was no longer a dog carer, was I?"

"Then it WAS you who gave that first interview to the press?"

Bess smirked while Deirdre looked uncomfortable. 

"And you were all right with all this? Weren't you angry with Lawton for what he did with Bess?" Barbara narrowed in on their mother.

She sipped her tea and looked resigned, if embarrassed. 

"I was already legal so she can't say a word," Bess was firm. "I'm on an advanced course now to be a groomer. I'm going to open my own shop down by the market."

"She is, indeed. My girls have solid goals. And my youngest, Simon, is thinking of following his sister to law school. That's what I always said - I'll support my kids to anything they want as long as they make a goal and stick with it. That's the secret, isn't it? Just sticking. That's how the snail wins the race."

"Tortoise, mum," Diedre corrected her with an affectionate smile. "Not snail."

"Tell me," Lynley turned the conversation back to the point. "While you were in London, did you meet anyone who might have had a grudge against Lawton? Or disagreement?"

"Enough to kill him, you mean? Well, you could start with his wife. Ever see that movie with the ice queen throwing icicles from her hands? That's the missus. She was already giving him a bollocking as she..."

"Bess!"

"_Fine_. She was giving him a right wigging as she walked in the door! And then she thought she'd have a go at me? It was Steve's house, not hers! I was telling her so when that ... _housekeeper_ practically threw me on the street."

"Stephen allowed that?"

"He texted me later. Put me up at the Marriott that night. The next day, I was back like nothing happened."

"His wife was gone?"

"And the housekeeper. Didn't see her again for a week. Steve wouldn't say where and I was just glad for the break from her sour face." 

"Was there anyone else? Anyone who struck you as off or resentful of Lawton?"

"There was some kid, I dunno, maybe Steve's son? I never got a good look. They were arguing in Steve's office at all hours one night. I asked him later and Steve just told me it was family stuff. Oh, and his clerk is a total weasel. Groped my ass."

"Do you remember anything else about the boy? Or the clerk's name?"

"The kid? No. But the clerk's name I won't forget! Edward Sheeran."

"Like the singer?"

She nodded, grinning. "And he hates it, too."

"Sounds like you were there a while to meet all these people."

"I suppose. I stayed on for two months?"

"I picked you up at the station on May 5th so closer to three."

"All right, then. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions. You've been very helpful."

"Yes, thank you for the tea," Barbara nodded as they stood and gathered their things. 

They were at the door when she turned and asked a last question of Bess; "When was the last time you saw Stephen?"

Bess looked back at her family and then quickly followed Lynley and Havers, closing her front door so no one could hear. "Actually, I saw him last month," her voice was hushed, conspiratorial. 

"Really?"

She nodded, rubbing her hands against the cold. "He rang me and said he'd be in the neighborhood. Took me to dinner for old times, he said."

"Where?"

"Trent Bridge. The food was gorgeous. They had a bit of dancing, as well."

"After that?"

"Nothing. Brought me home. Didn't even kiss me goodbye," she looked wistful.

"Bess, did he know you were the one that had talked to the press?"

She nodded. "I wasn't the first like my mum thinks. Someone else gave them my name and all and I got 5,000 for the exclusive. Before I did it, I texted Steve. He knew the reporters had the story. He wasn't exactly happy I was going to talk but once I told him about the NDA being only for my time with Vulcan - he told me to do what was right for me."

"You never talked about it again, like at that dinner?"

She shook her head. "We just talked about ordinary stuff. My shop. He was thinking about a new puppy..."

"Thanks. You should head in before you catch cold," Barbara wasn't feeling warm herself and she was in a long wool coat. 

"You'll find out who did this, won't you? The moment I heard on the telly, I was so mad. It's a set-up."

"We're doing our best," Lynley promised. 

"Good. You look me up if you need anything else," Bess tossed her hair over her shoulder before heading back inside.

Lynley and Havers quickly walked out to the road. The car had a solid dusting of snow so they let it defrost before pulling away. 

"So..."

"So?"

"I have to ask. _Do_ you dance? Or did you, back in the day?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

She began humming _Peggy Sue_ by Buddy Holly with a little grin. 

Tommy navigated them halfway to Nottingham before he got the reference. "The 50s pub. That caravan park," he remembered. "That was ages ago. "

She blushed slightly, remembering him in a towel. 

He caught it. Chuckled. 

"Stop," she ordered.

"Actually, you know what I remember most about that case?"

"That scratch on the car?"

"No," he grimaced. "Close second. First was finding you on the marshlands."

Barbara didn't answer. There was nothing she could say.

He reached between the seats and squeezed her hand, lightly. Then, as though it hadn't happened, he reached over to turn on her seat warmer. 

They had a final stop before the drive home. The modern office building was in downtown Nottingham. Tommy found parking a block away and they huddled as they made quick work of getting inside. A security desk blocked the path to the lifts. As employees swiped through a row of turnstiles, they produced their warrant cards and idled.

A short woman in a tight business suit appeared and flashed an even tighter smile of greeting. She led them around to a private hallway and through glass doors to a conference room overlooking the city. Dusk was just beginning to fall and holiday lights were bright in every direction of the old city. 

They waited, side by side, looking out at the view. 

"Sorry for the wait," Managing Partner Llewelyn Gunn was short, trim, and sported a goatee that made him look like Merlin from the old tales. In his wake were two clerks - the woman from before and a lanky young man who gave the two detectives a long, surly inspection. "You've met Maeve and this was Mr. Lawton's personal clerk, Edward Sheeran."

Neither Havers nor Lynley batted an eye. 

They all took seats around the long glass table. Gunn dropped a file and sighed. "I've spoken with your commissioner. This is terrible business. The benefactors were informed of the contents of the Will today. Normally, we wouldn't share the contents of the Will with anyone else until it became public. I've decided to make an exception - if what your commissioner says is true, then someone - or several someones - have gone to much trouble to make this look like a suicide. As it happened, there is a clause in Mr. Lawton's Will that addressed this."

"Pardon? He made preparations for the possibility he would take his own life?"

"Detective Chief Inspector Lynley, am I correct in thinking you are Asherton?"

"Yes."

"You knew Stephen?"

"In passing, yes."

"Went to school with his wife?"

"At the same time, yes."

"Then, hopefully, I can rely on your discretion. Thomas Lawton's father is generally believed to have died in a hunting accident but the truth is that he sadly took his own life."

Lynley sighed. "Parkinson's?"

"So you _did_ know?"

"There was talk of it being in the family."

"Thomas had some of the genetic markers. Luckily, his siblings did not. In an abundance of caution, he chose not to have children of his own. If the disease had manifested, he wanted...choices."

"I understand," Lynley nodded. "So you anticipated suicide?"

"Not anticipated, no. I was not aware of any plans Mr. Lawton may have had to self-harm or end his own life."

"Of course," Havers exhaled. 

"Once the inquest is final and the verdict is in, the general terms are as follows: Thomas's personal estate will be split with a quarter going to support Viola and a quarter to Judith and her sons, a quarter to James, and the remainder split between Viola's children and Robert and Cressida. Judith receives a life estate of the cottage. There are small bequests to his housekeeper and a handful of friends. Kingship goes to Robert and Cressida, jointly. If the verdict is suicide, however, the terms change."

"How so?"

"Kingship and the trust that supports it will be donated to the National Trust."

Everyone fell silent. 

Gunn looked a little sad. "Kingship, the land, and the cottage are valued at approximately £17,000,000. Due to the 1978 Finance Act..."

"1976," Maeve corrected, in a _sotto_ voice. 

"1976, it is exempt from inheritance tax."

"Yes, of course," Lynley agreed.

"The current upkeep is offset by rentals and tours and the Kingship Trust takes care of the rest. It was established for the sole purpose of supporting the estate in the 1960s. Stephen Lawton's grandfather had made fortunate speculations in plastics."

"And Stephen never considered his wife or brother to inherit?"

"James has publicly stated his desire to never inherit it. Viola's devastating accident has precluded her. Stephen had named Robert the heir to Kingship in the previous version. I can't say if Judith was ever in line for it."

"So this was a new will? Adding Cressida?"

"Handing a teenager half of an ancient estate?" Barbara echoed her astonishment.

The solicitor looked inside the folder. "This Will was witnessed approximately 5 months ago. One couldn't have imagined he would meet such an early demise. He may well have expected she would be older when the circumstances arose."

"And if one of the beneficiaries harmed Stephen - they would be forfeit any inheritance for themselves and their descendants."

"That's the law," Gunn agreed. 

"The not inconsiderable estate, is there a dollar amount?" Havers asked. 

"Is that germane?"

"The higher the amount, the more likely people are tempted to take shortcuts." 

"His personal estate is probably in the area of £11,000,000 in addition to the value of his London home and a few significant pieces of art. Ah, and Judith will receive a portion of Stephen's deferred MP pension."

"He bought Cressida a flat..."

Edward stepped in. "Any gifts made prior to Mr. Lawton's untimely death are outside the scope of the Will."

"Unless you have any other questions about the contents of the Will, I'm afraid we must stop here. I speak for the whole firm when I say that I sincerely hope you apprehend those responsible."

"Of course," Lynley nodded, standing. 

As they were stepping out, Havers glanced at Ed-not-Sheehan. His eyes were stuck on Maeve's bum as she led their way out. She elbowed him. "How did she take it? Lady Judith?"

Edward burst out in a quick cough and then glanced at Gunn. "Uh, you heard. She was expecting Kingship. Things got sharp."

"I'm sure."

Lynley flipped up the collar of his coat as they stepped outside. He turned to make sure Havers was there before stepping off towards the car. The wind was harsh as the last of the sun faded. He unlocked the car and they both slid in quickly.

He tapped the address into the Sat Nav as she pulled a sachet of paracetamol and a small, reusable water bottle from her bag. 

Catching a glimpse, he frowned. "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer, taking her time pouring the powder and then drinking it. He waited. 

Pushing the bottle into itself, a rib at a time like an accordion, Barbara tucked it away. Turning, she put on a ghost of a smile. "Just the change in weather."

A long time ago, she'd been shot in the stomach protecting a suspect. The bullet had nicked her hip bone. Five years later, another suspect had killed his wife. Tommy's career had taken away much from the people he loved, though he worked hard to never dwell on it.

Instead, he reached over and chafed her arm in comfort. 

She gave him a look. "I'm not cold. My arm doesn't bother me. I'm just getting older and it comes with aches and pains."

"Not usually from gunshot wounds."

_What could she say? She'd lived. Who could complain about that outcome?_

"Let's get going."

"All right," he turned and drove them onto the road. "Fancy Italian for supper?"

"Not burgers from some chippy on the way?"

"No," he shook his head. "We haven't had a proper meal in ages. If you're up to it, I have a friend who owns a place very near the hotel."

"How fancy?" She looked down at her black trousers and half-boots. "I'm not dressed for..."

"You're perfect," he promised. "Unless you would rather..."

"I could go for Spaghetti Bolognese**."**

"I hoped that would be the case."

With the weather, it was the better part of an hour before they parked on the edge of Coventry. The restaurant was an unassuming storefront. Inside was warm and gently lit. The soft buzz of chatting patrons was balanced with music from the speakers. A lithe woman stepped quickly stepped up and clapped Tommy on the shoulder - he returned the gesture with a smile. 

"Welcome!" 

"Thank you," he hugged her in a quick motion. "Nina, good to see you. This place is fantastic."

"Tommy," she wrinkled her nose. "It only took you five years to get back here?"

"It's a bit out of the way."

"But clearly worth the trip," she jibed. "Come on through."

They followed her through the dining room and through an unassuming door on the side. A narrow aisle brought them to a nook that opened to the kitchen. There were a pair of tables and several chairs crammed into the tight space. Two kids looked up and smiled. "Hiya Tommy."

"You remember me?"

"Nah. Mum told us you were at college together."

"Were you really in _Harry Potter_?"

Lynley coughed and looked sternly at the children. "No," his voice was half-rebuke.

"Sorry," Nina giggled a bit. "Have a seat, both of you. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"What are you serving?"

"I've got a 2016 Fattoria."

"Sounds perfect," he nodded.

"For you as well, Barbara?"

"Sure," she was game. As Nina moved to the bar, she turned to Tommy. "_Harry Potter_?"

"They filmed some of it at our college _after_ we'd left. Well, after I'd left - Nina stayed on."

She looked over at the multi-racial chef and back at Tommy with her eyebrows up in surprise. "She was at Oxford with you? Same college?"

"I hear that tone and you judge without facts."

She gave him a look.

"I admit there's a long way to real diversity but it is more inclusive than you suspect. Nina took first honors in History."

"Like you?"

"Yes, but it was more of a passion for her. She discovered her love of cooking somewhere along the way. Stayed on to study the history of food..."

"No, the history of _preparing_ food," Nina corrected, placing down glasses of wine and a basket of warm bread. "The word culinary comes from the Latin _culina, _which means the stove for cooking and the area around it. The fascinating bit is how humans interacted with food to make meals, nourish their loved ones, express their individuality and culture. Look at this bread. Almost every culture has it but how? People have been cooking flatbread for over 10,000 years but where - and when - and why was yeast introduced to create this wonderful stuff?"

"Spoiler alert: Egypt, 5,000 years ago, and at the same time as fermentation?"

"You," she bumped Tommy's chair with her hip. "Don't give away the answers. This is my best speech."

"I have heard it before."

"Once or twice," she conceded. "Isaac is finished with work so I'm going to head home with the kids. My chef will take care of you."

Lynley quickly stood and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for this. It's lovely to see you."

"And you. If you're going to be in the area, let's have a real visit."

"I'll let you know?"

She nodded and then flashed a quick smile at Barbara, "And delighted to finally meet the famous Barbara Havers. Enjoy the meal."

"Thanks," Barbara was slightly confused but polite. After Nina had herded her children away, she turned back to Tommy, "I'm famous?"

"Among the right set, I suppose." Before she could push, he held up his glass and sniffed. "This is good. Try it."

She took a quick sip and, surprised at the flavor, another. "This _is_ good."

"I think I like it better than the 2015, which was excellent. It's reasonable, too."

"What's reasonable?"

"Under 100 a bottle, I'd guess."

She shook her head. "Reasonable means something different for you and me."

He had another taste. "However, we can agree on the quality."

"I'm more a beer girl, as you know. But yeah, we agree."

"So, what do you reckon?"

"First, tell me how I'm famous."

"Ah, well. Nina and Helen were friends."

"Ah, well," Barbara understood. "She looks a good 10 years younger than you."

"Hey! She's maybe 2!" Tommy acted insulted. "She married a local - he's a Professor of Economics, I believe. She was expecting her oldest... well, at the same time we were expecting, actually. Funny how things turn out."

Before he could turn mawkish, she turned back to work. "I think that Stephen Lawton wasn't like his press - or his wife - led us to believe."

"She never said he was paedophile or anything, exactly."

"No, but acted like he'd ruined her life."

"Oh, bitter, yes - I'd agree. Meanwhile, Cressida and Bess, even the housekeeper all proved loyal and positive."

"Rob, as well, to a degree."

"Absolutely."

"Until we heard the contents of the Will, I'd begun to suspect Lady Judith. It sounds like she lost out with his death, though?"

They both leaned back as plates of food were carefully placed in front of them. Barbara's bolognese smelled delicious. His strangozzi with truffle looked like a picture from a food magazine. For several long minutes, they savored their meals in silence. The busy sounds from the kitchen were the only accompaniment. 

"Amazing," Barbara breathed. "Did Nina learn to cook at Oxford, too?"

"No. I believe that started when she began dating the chef at a cafe in town. And we're all the richer for it."

"Absolutely," she took another bite. 

"I think Lawton was killed and by two people."

"How do you figure?"

"Obviously, even with his heart condition he's been safely engaging in his extracurricular activities for some time. So it makes no sense to me that he would suddenly turn to Viagra."

"Well, for some men as they get older..."

"As they get older, what?"

Barbara shrugged and grinned.

"I'm _sure_ I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mmm hmm."

"Robert may not have known about the updated Will. If he was the only heir to Kingship and saw Stephen's growing closeness with Cressida as a threat..."

"I hate to say this but, he could have had the same outcome by killing his sister. And his alibi is solid. It's the BBC, for God's sake."

"What did Winston say?"

She checked her phone. "They have in the logs that he checked on the Merry Band 6:45PM and again at 6:15AM the next day."

"And Lawton died before 8:30PM."

"There's a 6:37 train that gets in at 8:45," she looked up the schedule. "And driving it is at least 2 and a quarter hours if he didn't take a break."

"Did you see his car? Add thirty minutes, at least."

"Lady Judith's alibi is also solid as far as it goes. Winston says she was off on the time - the party began in the mid-afternoon. It began breaking up around 5:30PM with the last two guests leaving at 6:05."

"Sounds right for duplicate."

"Duplicate?"

"A form of bridge where the same hands to the different players to see who has the best skill playing that board."

Barbara blinked. "The housekeeper's daughter confirms they had dinner together before her mum left for work. Cressida's alibi was a boyfriend..."

"Did she mention a boyfriend to us?"

"No. But he exists - or at least, he did the night of the murder. David Shaw. Says he met Cressida at a pub at 8:00PM. They had a few drinks and then went back to his place."

"Not the best alibi, then."

"No. But what I'm curious about is the woman - or man - upstairs while they were having curry. Did Stephen have a new woman in his life?."

"We're sure it wasn't Bess?"

"I think she was being straight with us about their last meeting," Stuffed on the pasta, Barbara leaned back in her chair and took another sip of the wine.

"So do I. We need to find out who that was. Whatever else we know - someone other than Stephen pulled that trigger."

"Someone for hire, perhaps?"

"Or, back to the start, the family of one of his girlfriends."

"Well, we have three more, tomorrow. Plus the new one, if there was one."

"And the co-conspirator, if I'm right."

"Or two murderers that struck simultaneously."

"We've seen it before."

"Sometimes it feels like we've seen _everything_ before."

"And yet."

"And yet," she agreed, understanding completely. No one was ever happy to know a crime had been committed but the desire to find the party responsible and get a measure of justice never waned.

They finished their second glasses of wine and shared a tiramisu. Stepping back outside after such a warm night was a shock. It was dark and a sharp wind blew the snow in the street lamps. They jogged to the car and Tommy quickly pulled away. Within moments, the heat began blowing from the vents and she relaxed. 

"How far to the hotel?"

"In the city proper but don't worry, there's valet parking."

"I wasn't worried."

It was a boutique hotel on the top floors of an office building. Barbara wasn't a fan but Tommy had his tastes. As they stepped out of the lift into the reception, the hard angles and neon colors made her blink. Signing in, she realized the prices were well above their stipend. 

"I know," he forestalled her complaints. "I'll make up the difference."

"This is out of order."

"Please," he stepped in front of her as she shouldered her rucksack. "I know I can be high-handed at times..."

"You think?"

"I should have talked with you about this at dinner but, frankly, I forgot."

"You should have talked to me before you booked it!"

Wincing, he inhaled deeply and began again. "Barbara, I'm sorry. I've stayed here before and it's an excellent facility. There's a fitness centre."

She put her hands on her hips.

"Fine, not a selling point. Just wait until you see the view in the morning. You'll understand. It's too late and the weather is too bad to go hunting up options."

"You can't just decide this without me. Your money doesn't make it right."

"I should have consulted you."

"Always."

"And I will. I do, usually."

"Excuse me," the clerk held up two plastic key cards. 

Barbara reluctantly nodded and took one. 

"The suite is the top floor," the clerk pointed at the lifts. 

"Wait, what does he mean?"

He pressed the button. "It's two bedrooms, I promise. It was all they had. And much better than that caravan!"

"I am doing our reservations from now on. Since you got that app and took over it's been one thing after another. Is it so hard to just find good accommodations at our rate?" The fight was going out of her but she still resented his actions. 

"I've done that and will do that in the future. But there are the odd occasions when a better night's sleep is called for." 

The lift deposited them into a tiny vestibule. He waved the card and the only door clicked. She went in first. 

"OK, this is acceptable."

"They call it a family suite," Tommy let the door close behind him. "Two ensuite bedrooms."

There were floor-to-ceiling windows the length of the lounge. She dropped her things on the sofa and stepped over. The lights of the city, especially the cathedral, were spectacular. The snow made it all somehow more magical. "Wow."

He stepped close behind her and felt himself relax. The night view of the urban landscape with the river running into it was exquisite. 

She let her head rest on his arm, the cashmere was soft and only slightly damp. And it all smelled like _him_. His conditioning shampoo. His laundry soap. His car. His scent, _Diptyque _something.

"Worth it?"

"Mmm," she didn't want to move. The wine in her veins made her mellow. Outside was like a wonderland complete with the small glow of moon pressing through the clouds.

Then she felt his hand fit in the small of her back and his jaw rest on the top of her head. 

"Let me ask you..."

"No," she was sleepy and maybe a bit happy. Definitely not logical and pragmatic.

"Barbara, why do you think our partnership somehow means less to me than it does to you?"

"I never said that. What I've said, and not just about us, is that you can ruin a great partnership by trying to make it more than it is."

"Nothing is breaking the partnership unless we let it."

"Exactly my point. We try and fail - and we will - then we'll just end up avoiding each other."

"God," he breathed. "Don't say that. Barbara Havers, you are the best of my days."

He felt her tiny shrug. Accepted it for what it was. "I've made the world wait on me, the last couple of years. The first year was...well, much of it is still a blur. Now it's my turn to wait. I'm poor at it. But I respect the line." 

She didn't pull away but she didn't answer, either.

"This is the part," he sighed, "Where you respond."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"That was a lie, wasn't it?"

"No –"

"'Cos you cross the line all the time."

"I..."

"Like right now."

Reluctantly, he dropped his arm and moved away. "How about this?"

"Was I complaining?"

"Can't you just...say it straight? How do you feel, Barbara?"

Barbara felt overwhelmed. It was the same every time she thought of it. She felt vulnerable, exposed. Whatever Thomas Lynley thought he felt about her, she knew him better. The drizzle of attraction wasn't worth it. 

Tommy felt her retreat and his heart dropped. "Wait," he whispered. "One more thing…" he pulled her close and lowered his face to hers, closing his eyes just as their lips touched.


	5. Passage to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the kiss is complicated by a case that may not be murder and a man who was not as he seemed. Havers and Lynley find themselves drowning in details as they dig into Stephen Lawton's life. And there's a killer out there, determined to cover their tracks.

"Oi," she pushed him away. 

"Bar-"

She touched her mouth with her fingers, disbelieving.

He clocked her reaction and reached out a hand. "Right, I'm sorry. Just -"

"Don't say another word," she ordered, grabbing her rucksack and stalking off to the nearest bedroom. Slamming the door, she dropped onto the king-sized bed and closed her eyes. The sheets were silky and smelled faintly of lavender. _Of course they do_, she thought, kicking off her boots.

_What a pompous, idiotic…how dare…what just…_

She tossed and turned, trying to sort the rush of thoughts and feelings flooding her mind. Punching a pillow, she gave up and strode off to the en suite. After changing and washing, she swallowed a sleeping tablet. All Barbara wanted was rest.

She got it.

Within a few moments, she was dead to the world. On the other side of the suite, Tommy sat in a chair with his head in his hands. It was hours before he shuffled to bed and pulled the coverlet up over his body. 

The sun was bright through the long window when Barbara opened her eyes. Padding over, she had to squint. The sky was a slate of deep blue and the city below looked like the inside of a snowglobe. _Gorgeous_.

Eventually, Barbara headed to the bathroom. A long shower using all the complimentary bottles; the comforts of a posh hotel. She used the little blow-dryer and left her hair loose. Digging through her tiny cosmetics bag, she found some mascara and powder foundation.

Her last clean outfit was a pair of navy mid-rise trousers, matching tee, and a powder-blue jumper thin enough to fit under her coat. She dressed carefully and then repacked her rucksack a piece at a time.

After she'd run out of reasons to stay behind the door, she opened it.

He was sitting on the sofa. Tommy could have been there all night except his hair was wet and his shirt was a different color. His hard leather duffel at his feet. 

Barbara stepped into the mini-kitchen and flipped on the kettle. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Tommy's bedroom had two smaller beds, side by side. _Oh. She'd accidentally taken his room.  
_

With a quiet sigh, she made two cups of tea. Noticed a plate of pastries.

"I called down," Tommy's voice was raspy. "Thought we could use a bite."

"Cheers."

He didn't respond.

With a cinnamon roll in her mouth, she carried the cups across the room. 

He took one, careful not to touch her. Watched the steam rise in whisps to avoid meeting her eyes just yet. "Say what you're going to say."

"This kind of thing seems to happen to you often, doesn't it? Lonely, on the road..."

"Barbara, it wasn't a drunken accident." Tommy wanted to make an explanation of sorts. About how the kiss last night hadn't been a whim but a symptom of something he couldn't name. "Why couldn't it just be an attraction?"

"You're not serious."

"What if I was?" He finally looked up, his eyes were stormy. 

"Remember when I was busted down to DC? I had my resignation ready for Webberley."

"Believe me, I’ll never forget."

"And you were counting down the days 'til I was leaving."

"I was."

"I visited mum at Hawthorne. She was having one of those lucid days when she realized where she was and threw a massive strop: shouting at me, putting on her shoes, demanding to go home. One of the aides came in and tried to calm her down. And you rang the midst; I couldn't answer."

"I don't recall any of this."

"Because I never told you," Barbara finished the roll and washed it down with the last of her tea. She mimicked her mother's tinny voice; "_Is that him, the toff? He isn’t rid of you yet?_ "

"Rubbish."

"Yeah," Barbara took a few deep breaths before she could continue. "I can't believe it's getting to me now. Because it didn't get to me back then, at all. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you'd counted down the days."

Tommy shut his eyes, tightly. It took a few moments to get his emotions in check. "Barbara -"

"People have been wondering about us since that first case. Wondering if you'd stoop so low before putting me out. Even my own mother, it seems."

"No. Don't say that."

"Why not?" she leaned back in the armchair and met his gaze. "It's true. You know it is."

Tommy chafed his cheeks with his palms. "Other people have never been right about our partnership."

"Whatever _our partnership_ is, whatever _us_ is..." Barbara's gaze was level and unstinting. "That's why I'm saying..._don't_."

"Don't what? Don't ever? Don't today? Be clear. Will we _never_ be on a first-name basis? Will our relationship _always_ be anchored to the job? That's the bottom line for you? You've drawn a box and there's no room to move?" 

"There are boundaries. There should be," She tensed, fighting the anger of being misunderstood. "You were the first person who knew my dad had died. I was the one who knew that...the point is, that's more than...that's more than anyone. Why do you have to _push_? Why can't we just go on? Why do we have to become anything else? I thought..."

"Me, too! And then..."

"And then?"

“God damn it, Barbara."

Neither of them, as it turned out, was equipped for the conversation. They were at an impasse. It was intimate and sharp and had the power to rip their bond. 

Tommy wished he could rewind the conversation and start over but too late. “This tea is undrinkable,” he pushed the mug away. Stepped to the windows and stared without seeing.

Barbara tidied and then tugged on her wool coat and buttoned it. By the time she slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder, he'd realized what was going on and was almost ready himself. 

They headed out to the lift. In silence, they rode down to the lobby. Lynley tossed their door cards into a basket before nodding to the valet. They waited just inside the glass doors until they saw the Bentley pull up. 

It was already warm. 

He pulled in at a coffee kiosk just a block down the road. As she stepped out of the car, her mobile rang. She paused to look at the name, the wind pressing in as he watched. 

"Edward Sheeran," she mouthed to Tommy, connecting the call. 

He follower her out, locking the car and moving quickly into the shop. She followed, stepping into an empty corner.

"Sergeant Barbara Havers."

"You left a message.”

"I had a couple of follow-up questions.”

“Yes?”

“Was the housekeeper, Mrs. Griffiths, there when the Will was read?"

"No, and no need."

"Why is that?"

"Same as with Cressida. Mr. Lawton was a big fan of trusts."

"Come again?"

"I should charge you for this."

"How about from the goodness of your heart?"

"How about we discuss this over a pint? You're buying."

"It's just gone nine."

"So?"

"Maybe another time?" Barbara rolled her eyes. "For now, I just need an explanation."

"That's a rain check, then. I knew you were into younger men, eh?"

She darted a glance at Tommy in the queue. "You were saying about trusts?"

"Right-o. Stephen used trusts as a way of giving gifts."

Barbara was a fan of prepaid cards and cheap wine. _To each their own_.

"Trusts lower the tax liability and keep things tidy – especially if you think far in advance. After 7 years, the tax liability of a trust is negligible. An educational trust, for example, could be structured to also maintain a student’s living costs and housing. Thus would the recipient, hypothetically, gain a flat through a trust that they would then own free and clear."

"Ah. And there were several of these? Or just Cressida?"

"I can't say."

"C'mon..." she infused a little smokiness into her a voice.

"No, really. I can provide context but details are constrained to the contents and references of the Will," his tone brooked no argument.

"Ah. And Mrs. Griffiths?"

"As I said, Mr. Gunn outlined all the bequests in Mr. Lawton’s Will."

She considered. "What if… I was going to take care of a longtime employee? Are there trusts for that?"

"Hmm. Yes. Trusts can act as pension schemes. Unfortunately, they are also subject to the 7-year provision."

Tommy stepped towards her juggling two new reusable carafes and a wax paper bag. "One more thing – were the stepsons at the reading?"

"I couldn’t say if they were."

"Thanks for your time," Barbara quickly rang off.

Tommy held out her coffee.

She took it and smiled. "Cheers."

They headed back out to the car, the doors closed speedily against the wind.

"Finally," he took a long swallow of his coffee before setting it in the cupholder. "What did he say?"

"Sheeran all but said that there was money for Mrs. Griffiths in the form of a trust made over within the last seven years.”

"Really? How much?"

"He wouldn't give details."

"Lawton protected his housekeeper against every possible threat to her job or even criminal charges. I mean, she could literally do no wrong. And she got a token in the Will with an private trust on the side?"

"There’s something there.”

"Certainly,” Tommy put the Bentley in gear but kept the brake pressed. "Barbara, once this is done, let's talk. You and I. Properly."

She stared at him and shook her head, slightly.

"No assumptions - I mean it. No pressure. Just a conversation uninterrupted by the job. Please."

“I really…”

“I know,” he exhaled. “But if we leave this hanging, I’m concerned…”

“It’s not hanging,” she argued before he could say more. “Totally sorted. Forgotten.”

“No, it’s not.”

Barbara took a few more quick swallows of her coffee and glanced around. Sighed. And then nodded her head.

“I’ll make arrangements,” Tommy sounded a little too pleased.

“_Arrangements_? We don’t need…”

“Trust me?”

“Not hardly,” she scoffed. But she shrugged her agreement and he engaged the car and off they went.

He glanced over and saw she was chewing her lip in thought. “What is it? What else did the solicitor say?”

“It’s nothing he said. It’s just…this case has brought us pretty far afield from the crime scene…”

“Needs must. We lost a damn fortnight because of that bumbling civilian examiner. This is where most of the suspects are – wife, family, even some of the girls that he…”

“I _know_,” she cocked her head, reminding him that she’d been right there with him the whole way. “I just need…”

“All right,” he agreed. “After this interview. No one has spoken to these stepsons yet, we’d be remiss...”

“Agreed,” she held up her hand.

He nodded and focused on driving. The main road has been well cleared of the snow, stretching like a ribbon ahead. Eventually, Tommy pulled off to a private lane. It was difficult to see where the edges were and he had to carefully nudge them along.

“This isn’t an off-roading vehicle.”

“We’re not off-roading,” he shook his head. A bump surprised them both. “At least, I don’t think we are.”

Nakata's number flashed on her phone before she could respond. She nodded at Lynley before putting the call on speaker.

Winston's voice was excited, “A group of chemists was arrested last night as part of a mid-level Viagra ring."

"Good morning to you, too," she rejoined. "DCI Lynley's with me."

"Figured. Lafferty and DC Thomas are here, as well."

"Hiya! Uh, sir! You too, Sarge!" The young voice echoed in the car.

"Just emailed you both the report," Winnie continued. “One of the chemists said Stephen Lawton was a customer. Or, at least, someone called in a fake ‘prescription’ for him. He and his clark had thought to sell the CCTVof Lawton’s buy to the paps but he never showed - just, and I'm quoting, 'some daft old bint'."

"The housekeeper," Lynley and Havers said at the same time.

“I’m still piecing it together,” Laferty’s deep voice slipped into the conversation. “But I’ve analyzed the stomach contents…”

“Don’t tell me that civilian never…”

“She sent them for analysis - she just didn’t follow up on the results. After dinner, Lawton had a limóncello digestif with approximately 200mg of lemon-flavored Viagra gel.”

Lynley snorted.

“Yes, it comes in assorted gels now.”

“In case tablets are too complicated?” Havers had to ask.

“I really couldn't say. But two empty lemon packages were found in his bathroom bin along with empty vanilla and black currant. They are being checked for prints. The rest were still in their boxes in a small cabinet behind the mirror. A bottle of limóncello imported from Abruzzi was found in his study. There was no trace of Viagra in the empty glass so we could assume wasn’t slipped in the drink.”

“200mg – two packages. That’s a double dose?”

“Yes. Though with his heart even a single dose would have been contraindicated.”

“And that killed him?”

“I’m still gathering up the evidence. Look, without the body there may be no way to prove one way or another. It’s guesswork. Even the blood loss – all we have is the remains of the chair.”

“We’ll have him exhumed, if necessary,” Lynley promised.

Lafferty sighed loudly. They all knew the burial process would have destroyed much of the evidence.

Havers spoke up. “The solicitor told us yesterday Lawton considered the possibility he would take his own life in his Will – in that event, Kingship is bequeathed to the National Trust. If the perpetrator knew that then…”

“You’re saying _a fan of the National Trust_…?”

“I have no idea what to think.”

“We’re still at zero and the press has turned this into a nightmare,” Lynley complained.

“We’re tracing the Viagra to its source. We are also confirming it was the housekeeper who bought them,” Nkata reported.

“I find it strange that there were traces of N9 spermicide. Lawton had a vasectomy. And the condoms found in his home did not have spermicide.”

“Maybe the partner brought it? Have you check the discarded…”

“That’s the thing. I’ve been through the SOCO reports front and back - no discarded condoms. But I've sent a request for them to re-check.”

“All of this should have processed and double-checked weeks ago," Lynley's frustration was clear. "Please tell me you’ve got something from the security cameras.”

"Yes, sir."

Everyone waited.

"Give the report," Nkata prompted.

"Me? OK. So...yeah, I went back 4 days and logged all the video we have. In that time, 26 people arrived and 23 people left. Accounting for Mr. Lawton and Mrs. Griffiths, that left someone in the home. Mrs. Griffiths was very _Downton Abbey_ – guests through the front, workers through the back. Except on Thursday morning when a crew arrived to patch the roof.”

"And?"

“One arrived a full 20 minutes after the rest,” she continued. “In full bunny suit, N95 mask, and a cap down low. Mrs. Griffiths sent him ‘round back. Problem was, they'd up a ladder and it partially obscured the back camera until they packed it in around 3PM. Meanwhile, there were five deliveries for a 'do Lawton was having that night - catering, floral, a cleaning team. Mrs. Griffiths kept a log. According to her, everyone who arrived also left.”

“What makes you think she’s wrong, you just said…”

“We counted legs, sir. At least a half-dozen times. I’m telling you, someone went in and didn’t come out that day.”

“What about the other exits to the home?”

“Lower ground floor staff access and a gated stairway from the terrace down to the garden. Nothing except some folks smoking on the terrace after the dinner. But I think I know when this person left,” the young detective announced.

“It’s just a hypothesis,” Nkata equivocated. “A guess, really…”

“We’re all ears,” Havers assured them.

“I think the killer slipped out with SOCO. The housekeeper had been told that they’d would be done by 6AM and she passed that along to the security company. However, SOCO was still in the house at the reset so the alarm immediately went off.”

“And wouldn’t the cameras…”

“Marquee obscured front one.”

“You’re saying that someone snuck into the home on Thursday, somehow killed Lawton perhaps with a shotgun but also perhaps with flavored Viagra and then, what, slipped out Monday morning without Simmens or SOCO ever noticing?”

“I know it sounds unlikely,” the DC responded. “But remember what Arthur Conan Doyle wrote? _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth_.”

“Sherlock Holmes was fictional, Thomas,” Havers chided. “But go ahead and follow up. Find the missing person. And find the woman who was with him that night!”

"Double-check _everything_," Lynley added. "Full report at 5. Updates whenever you have them."

“Understood,” Nkata spoke for all of them before ringing off.

Lynley pulled to a stop. They both leaned forward and blinked at the remote stone farmhouse.

“They’re meeting us _here_?”

They stumbled through the snow to a cleared courtyard. A thin young man in a thick flannel gestured at a door, "Detectives? Over here!"

Havers went first, allowing Havers to use his heavy footsteps to make easier passage. A springer spaniel raced past them into the door, tracking thick snow into the foyer.

"I'm Jago. That's Stevie. Sorry about the state of things. You'll need this," his breath turned into white puffs as he spoke. They took the rags to dry their shoes and legs as he pulled his own boots off and swiped at the floor.

They landed in a great room with exposed beams and an electric fire brightening the gloom.

"Yeah, sorry," he gestured for them to sit. Stevie hopping around sniffing at the two detectives eagerly. "My brother will join us as soon as he can."

Havers held Stevie away from shedding all over her legs. "We'd like to discuss your stepfather's..."

"Dad," Jago leaned forward, somber. "He was _Dad_. Not stepfather."

"All right," Havers acknowledged, gathering her mobile and stylus. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"The week he passed. There was a dinner."

"You were there?"

Jago nodded, slowly. "If I'd have known it was the last time..."

"What was his mood that night?"

"Uh, if I had to put a word on it? Sentimental."

"How so?"

"Well, he was saying goodbye - wasn't he? I mean, he committed suicide just days later." Jago exhaled.

"So you thought it was some kind of 'goodbye'?"

"Not at the time, of course. Dad was...I dunno...generally in good spirits. And it was a party, wasn't it? But looking back, it must have been."

"What was he like?"

"Of course the whole bloody planet knows he had a private life but...that was misleading. The press are vultures, you know? But the real him was first-rate. He gave a damn. Marrying our mother was a disaster for him but we got a real father from the deal. Despite his political career, he always called. Always was there on the big days. Always made time."

"God, stop, Jago. I'm going to vomit," a deep voice bellowed from the hall. 

"Logan, come meet the detectives," Jago appeared completely unaffected by his brother's tone.

"Aren't you the chipper hostess? Tosser." They heard him continue to mutter as he walked past without showing his face.

"In any event," Jago continued, "I didn't sense anything maudlin at the time. It was just after that I thought he must have been putting on a brave face."

"You're at university?"

"Warwick- philosophy and economics. Winter break, obviously. I can't believe...uh.." he looked over at his brother for a long beat. "Anyway, uh, why are you investigating? Is it what they said? Did someone kill him?"

"We're investigating to determine the facts of the matter. Whose house is this? We were given the impression..."

"It's ours," the deep voice returned. Stevie looked up from his spot by the electric fire, his tail thumping happily as a taller, leaner, browner version of Jago stepped in. Logan was carrying a large mug of steaming coffee and looking so much the worse for wear. "I bought it for us three years ago on my 18th birthday." He took a swallow and frowned. "This coffee tastes old."

Jago smiled. "I made it when I got up, three hours ago."

"Why do two teenagers need their own home?" Havers asked.

"Have you met our mother?"

The detectives nodded.

"Then you know the bloody reason. She won't step foot here. We won't step foot in that overwrought cottage. Kingship is neutral ground."

"Hardly neutral with those two shrieking. It should replace waterboarding as the official preferred torture."

"Which two shrieking?" Lynley looked between them.

"Mom and Cressie, the never-ending battle. Bring your earplugs, believe me."

"We were given the impression that your mother and Cressida didn't meet that often."

The two brothers laughed and Stevie barked in agreement. "Since the day she landed, Mom has had it in for her like a bloodhound and Cressie ain't the type to back down, now is she?"

"What do they fight over?"

"Everything. If Cressie said the sky was blue, our mother would shout Berylline."

"Do you agree with Jago's assessment of Stephen?"

Logan took another sip of coffee before answering. "Generally? Yeah. Stephen Lawton was a puffed-up politician who would slink like an eel to stay in power. He was practically a paedophile and I'm convinced he married our mother for the credibility. But...yes. For all of that, he was a decent man."

"And were you here at the time of his death?"

"You're seriously asking for our alibis?"

"They have to, Lo. Me, I was on campus. Sunday night, right?" Jago tapped a finger on his lip in thought. "Tea with my girlfriend's family. We returned to the dorms around 7. We studied until..."

His brother snorted. "That's what you're calling it?"

"Whatever. We were together until just before 10."

"And can she..."

He pulled his mobile from his pocket and quickly air-dropped his girlfriend's contact information to Havers.

"Dude, don't offer..."

"It's my _alibi_, Jago."

"And you?" Havers turned.

"Whatever. Yes, I was here. No, no one was with me. Not physically, anyway. I was gaming."

"And can anyone..."

Her mobile pinged again and she squinted. "What is this?"

"You didn't just send them my feed..." Logan kicked his brother's shin.

"What's your problem? They're trying to find Dad's killer, OK?"

"Do you know what happens if my real name is linked to my gamer tag? Do you!?" Logan stood up quickly, his face red.

Jago stood to face him. "Chill."

"What's going on?" Havers and Lynley followed suit.

"My brother is a top gamer. His channels are massive. You'll find the live feed from Sunday. But if his identity leaks..."

"It won't," Havers assured them.

"I don't believe you," Logan combed his long hair with his hands.

Jago held up his hand for quiet. "Most of all, you got to keep that from our mother. She would totally doxx Logan just for the fun of it."

"What does..."

"Doxxing means she would reveal his personal data to the world in order to get him hounded out of the gamer community," Havers explained to her partner.

"Right," as Lynley pulled the term out of his memory, his expression turned sympathetic.

"With Dad's reputation and the general haters anyone with Logan's kind of following gets..."

"Can't happen," Logan scowled at the two detectives. "This is my _life_, you got that? It's bank. You can't bloody imagine."

Havers slid a glance at Lynley, who shrugged.

Jago put his hand on his brother's shoulder in support. "Let them do their job. We know it wasn't us."

Logan pulled away, angrily. "He did it to himself. Just get them out of our house."

The detectives headed back to the door with Jago and Stevie following. After Logan had stomped out of earshot, he met their eyes. "Check my mother, all right? Until the Will was read, she thought she was getting control of Kingship - at least for her lifetime. And, uh, I don't know the name of Dad's latest girlfriend but I can tell you she was really blonde. Think Dua Lipa. That housekeeper would know."

"You've seen her?"

"The night of the dinner. She wasn't a guest but...I was one of the last to leave and I'm sure I saw her in the hall."

"Thanks," Havers gave him a small smile.

After they'd bumped along the lane back to the main road, Haver's phoned DC Thomas.

"A platinum blonde?" The young detective repeated, making sure.

"Probably young. Maybe very young."

"The only one like that was part of the catering staff, Louise or something... Give me a hot sec," the clacking sound of a keyboard seemed very loud. "Got her. Louisa Fitch. Works for the private staffing company. Did meals for Lawton most weekends starting in October."

"Have you interviewed her yet?"

"No, sir. Left a message. I talked to her supervisor, though - he was there the night of the dinner, as well. He and Louisa cooked the meal and there was another person who helped serve and clean. The server is a part-timer still in school. Louisa has a culinary certificate and has been working for the company for a little over a year."

"Age?"

"Uh... 20. And he was right - the other two left with the housekeeper before ten. Louisa was there until midnight - a taxi fetched her."

"Track it down. And her."

"Got it, boss."

Once they merged onto the M1, Havers turned slightly in her seat.

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't remember being in this situation before. The world thought Stephen Lawton should have been in jail. But Cressida, Logan, Jago, Rob, his solicitor, even the former girlfriend all say he was a good man. The housekeeper is loyal to his grave and he was to her, as well. The only one who seems to have wanted him dead was his wife."

"And she has an alibi - though not as strong as she led us to believe."

"Condoms, shotgun, hidden worker... lemon Viagra."

"Lest we forget," his voice was teasing.

"You think they come in samples?"

He choked in laughter. "I'm sure I don't know."

The way was still clear and bright. The Bentley made a quick, smooth trip of it.

He didn't need the satnav to find Lawton's home. They pulled their gear from the boot. The housekeeper swung the door open as they climbed the steps.

"What are you doing?" She demanded.

"What are _you_ doing? This is a crime scene."

"Stuff and nonsense. I've let the room as it was, though ask me if I think that's necessary. Otherwise, this house will not fall to ruin on my watch."

Lynley pushed past her and Havers followed. She growled as she shut the door.

"Your employer is dead."

"But my wages are paid through January. Until someone says otherwise, I work here."

Lynley grit his teeth as he pulled booties over his shoes. The housekeeper watched disapprovingly as they climbed the stairs to the taped door.

Inside was little changed from the night Lawton had died. SOCO had left traces of their work and the pair stepped gingerly as they took in the scene in the fading light of day.

"He was sitting here," Lynley pointed to the chair by the large desk.

"And where was..." Havers slowly turned, looking around.

"There?" A tufted leather sofa faced was faced in the other direction at a antique fireplace.

"Why wouldn't he be sitting with the person he was with?" She wondered, scanning the bookcases, the framed accolades, the floral arrangement, the curtains, the small balcony, the Persian rug, the wet bar, the oil painting over the mantel. She called up the SOCO photos on her mobile and compared the reality with how it had been.

"Was the door shut when the housekeeper entered?"

"It was," she surprised them both by answering for herself. Mrs. Griffiths had arrived quietly, watching from the hall. "I knocked twice and then entered. At first I thought, oh we've been robbed! Everything was such disarray..."

"Then what?"

"Oh...then I felt the cold. The wind was throwing everything around and there was snow... I closed the French doors..." She eyes fell onto the chair and she visibly sagged. "Then I saw him."

"He was alone?"

"Of course."

"According to the security cameras, it's seems that someone came into the house the day of the dinner party and didn't leave until after Lawton died. Is that possible? Do you check every room?"

"Possible? Someone hiding here? No." Mrs. Griffiths shook her head. "I am responsible for every inch of..."

"...Of?"

"Man or woman?"

"Pardon?"

"This someone that came in. Was it a man or a woman?"

"Actually, we aren't sure. There was something..."

"Because if it was a woman...oh, it wouldn't have. I mean..."

"Are you all right?"

The housekeeper stepped into the room, her jaw rising. "Mr. Lawton's personal concerns were none of my business."

Lynley and Havers exchanged a long, confused glance. "So you don't know if -"

"I kept his privacy. It's dear. It _was_ dear."

"We understand."

She stepped over to the bookcase and brushed off a bit of invisible dust. "But of course, not much happened in this house that I didn't know."

"Of course," Lynley echoed softly.

She reached forward and pulled on _Satow’s Diplomatic Practice_. A loud 'click' startled them.

"A secret door?" Havers stepped over to inspect. "Really?"

"Mr. Lawton's family purchased the home in 1921 and never removed the old servant's stairs," she reached around the edge of the bookcase and found the handle. "The kids always like sneaking about. The adults, too, in their own way." With a conspiratorial smile, she tugged. 

As the case swung open, an explosion cracked - sharp and deafening. 

In a blink, Mrs. Griffiths was toppled back as Havers dropped to her knees. The adrenaline slammed into Lynley as he dove across the room, reaching for his partner.He heard himself shouting her name like a nightmare repeating. 

Then he was next to her, his hands on her shoulders. "Barbara?"

She winced and fell into him before passing out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far :) Did you enjoy it? I wrote this on Fanfiction.net as the series was being canceled - and after Elizabeth George (author) said she would never put Lynley and Havers together. Nathaniel Parker, who played Lynley, disagreed in an interview and said that he imagined Lynley chasing Havers off into the sunset. This was this story prompted!


End file.
